“The target today is a farming complex near Free Lhasa,” she said. “It is populated by unarmed civilians, including children. This region does not have a history of terrorism, and we don’t expect there to be any martyrs in the crowd.”
Her comment drew a few chuckles. She pushed down the sudden memory of the thrown jar, exploding in midair, followed by the unnamed man’s torso exploding as her bullet detonated in his chest.
“Intelligence reports that there is no warlord activity in the area, so we can expect an unopposed landing. The regular population is generally compliant,” a vision of her rifle butt smashing through the faces of the man and woman, “so any resistance at all should be treated as indication of hostiles.
“Our primary search area is the equipment lock-up at the south end of the central complex, desig building ten, as well as two shacks of unknown purpose in the southeast corner. These shacks have been erected since our last visit, and are considered extremely suspicious.
“Intel reports that this farm is a drop site for Centauri weapons, and that their agents maintain a permanent presence to coordinate with local warlords. We do not know the exact numbers of agents, but we suspect at least three. They are to be taken alive. Rapier strike team will lead the search. Second Platoon will provide cover on all sides.”
She nodded to Lahko, and resumed her position at the side of the platoon.
Lahko concluded the briefing. “We’ll have strike fighter support. Sublieutenant Wei and Fifth Platoon will be on standby. Fleet will do some preliminary bombardment on Cerberan bases a thousand kilometers away from the target to draw attention there. There’s no hiding these big ships, but the goal is for us to get in unnoticed.
“You’ve all seen the maps. You all know your search areas. The plan is simple—we land, we secure the population, we search, we get out.” He offered a wolfish grin. “Then, when Intel has their info, we dish out some payback!”
The troopers muttered their agreement. They were hungry for action.
Katja glanced at her “strike team.” Chang, Sakiyama, Cohen, and Alayan were stone-faced. If they were hungry for anything, it was vengeance, and she knew the feeling well. There was no real connection between the farm on Cerberus and the deaths of their fellow troopers in orbit over Laika, but everyone was the enemy now. Vengeance in whatever form would be sweet.
The drop ship boasted a very simple design. The stern was a ramped opening wide enough to disgorge a platoon of troopers in seconds. Low, bubble turrets perched on all four top corners of the hull, with weapons to provide covering fire as the ship landed. The interior bay was large enough to hold a tank, and easily seated fifty-some regular infantry.
Katja edged past the troopers as they unfolded aft-facing seats from the deck and strapped themselves in. She followed Lahko into the cockpit, where there were three seats behind the pair of pilots, raised slightly to give a good view. Lahko, as platoon leader, took the central seat. Katja took the port-side spot and secured herself.
Soon the airlock doors were sliding open, and Katja looked out to once again lay eyes upon the red and brown world of Cerberus. As Lahko conducted last-minute checks with Drop Command, she literally watched the world go by, and reviewed once again the sequence of events from her previous raid. She visualized the drop zone, and where their target buildings were located.
This time, she would finish the mission.
The countdown came from Drop Command. Katja leaned back straight in her seat.
“Three… Two… One.
“Drop!”
She was pressed back as the drop ship launched clear of Normandy’s hull. There was a moment of free-fall, and then the ship turned its nose down toward the planet. As it accelerated, she listened to the sporadic radio chatter, wishing she had a 3-D display to track the positions of any Cerberan craft. Before going fast-attack, she hadn’t cared about “Fleet crap” like ship movements and positioning: like a good trooper, she had cared only for her mission on the ground.
Now, though, she felt blind as she held onto her seat and watched the orange cone build around the drop ship’s hull. The ship began to shudder as the cone grew to envelop the forward windows. Visions of Rapier’s dive toward Laika filled her mind. Of bulkheads groaning. Of air leaking out. Smoke in passageways. Hernandez being shot to pieces. Her breathing was quick, straining against the g-forces. She moved reflexively to shut her faceplate and suck in concentrated suit oxygen.
But there was no suit.
Something hard banged against her shoulder. Lahko’s fist.
“Hey!” he shouted over the roar. “Don’t be a girl, Emmes!”
Sudden anger overwhelmed her. She forced deep breaths in and out, like her training had drilled into her. Her lungs loosened and filled with oxygen.
She punched his arm. Hard.
“If you’re lucky and make it back,” she said, “you’ll be my bitch!”
“Now we’re talking!” His eyes were hidden behind the darkened visor, but his grin was clear.
The fires of entry faded and the drop ship raced through the sky, dropping steadily on final approach. Katja surveyed the broad landscape with her eyes, then focused in on the strike camera. The farm looked exactly the same—a central complex of buildings surrounded by long greenhouses that extended out like the spokes of a giant wheel.
“Looks quiet,” she said.
Lahko nodded. “Maybe Intel was right!”
The view of the farm grew clearer as they approached. Seconds later, they were braking hard over the farm and dropping to the ground.
She unstrapped, released her rifle and rose in a swift, practiced movement. Unlike a strike pod, however, there were more than three troopers to disembark before her, and she came to an abrupt stop next to Lahko at the forward end of the trooper bay. The platoon spilled out before her with impressive efficiency, but even so, she practically strolled down the deck to the stern ramp.
The familiar hot wind brushed against her chin and jaw, and the strange, slightly metallic smell of Cerberan air was familiar. She lifted her rifle and descended to the dusty ground, watching carefully as the platoon spread out in a standard securing pattern. Lahko barked orders over the helmet comms.
The harsh light of Sirius reflected off the dull white buildings with an intensity that made her squint, even behind her visor. Troopers shuffled forward in pairs, checking windows and doorways. Otherwise, there was no movement. No civilians. No one dropping to the ground or staring in shock.
She turned in a slow circle as she walked, looking over her rifle, taking in the complete scene. The farm looked deserted.
Lahko had noticed it, too. “Pretty quiet.”
She nodded. “This isn’t right. Last time there were a dozen people within sight of this central area. Maybe they had warning, and ran.”
“Could be.”
Lahko issued a quick update, advising his platoon to expect trouble.
Building seven, the lab, was on her right. From the outside there was no evidence of the violence that had taken place there less than three weeks ago.
Chang and the rest of the strike team appeared in her peripheral. To keep naming simple, Chang, Sakiyama, Alayan, and Cohen had taken the code-names Alpha-Two through Five. For this mission, they were one squad, one team.
She motioned them forward. They advanced in a line on her flank, weapons up. Pairs of troopers guarded the corners of building seven on the right and building thirteen on the left. Seven fell away to reveal two smaller service huts—auxiliary power units. They gleamed silver in the dazzling sunlight, their sheer newness distinguishing them from the rest of the complex. Troopers used them as cover, guarding the approach to building ten.
Building ten was the same dull white as the rest of the complex, a square equipment storage shed taller than the other buildings. A large garage door was visible on the left, no doubt where the farm equipment was wheeled in and out. A door for pedestrian traffic was on the near wall.
Movement c
aught Katja’s eye. Just a swirl of dust in the street. The rough ground growled under her feet as she shuffled forward. The long greenhouses loomed in the background. Katja could see down the straight paths between them, half a kilometer to the open plains. To her right, those two small shacks stood curiously apart from the rest of the complex.
Second Platoon covered her, and she turned her eyes back to the target.
Building ten had probably once been gleaming white, but years of blowing dust had faded the plastic panels. The grooves in the door were caked with grit, but the handles were clear and smooth. Katja paused at arm’s length, and signaled for her team to activate their quantum-flux viewers.
The building walls dissolved in the vaporous view of the subatomic, but little emerged in their place. Katja swept her gaze slowly through a hundred degrees. Beyond a single chair she could make out, just inside the doors, there was nothing to see but a vague, swirling mass.
She deactivated her viewer.
Glances passed between her troopers. She hand-signaled that she could see nothing. They each signaled back the same.
The gnawing pull of indecision tightened in her gut. What was it about this farm?
Chang caught her eye from the far end of the line.
Buttonhook. Alpha-Two. Alpha-Five. Question. He was asking, not telling. But he got the point across—they had to enter to find out what was inside.
She delivered her orders via hand signal. She and Sakiyama would lead. The tall, lean trooper shuffled past Cohen to join her at the door. It was his job to keep her alive today.
She tried the latch. Locked. She motioned for him to kick it in.
Sakiyama’s big boot collided with the thin barrier and knocked it open with a crash, revealing darkness.
Katja was through, rifle up.
Sunlight flooded in behind her, and her own shadow played tricks with her vision. She leapt to one side to not be silhouetted. Sakiyama was inside a heartbeat later. Dust floated in the broad ray of light from the doorframe, but otherwise nothing moved. They were in a small room with three chairs on one side and lockers on the other. Katja tried her quantum-flux again. It revealed nothing.
She activated her comms, so that Lahko and Drop Command could hear.
“This is Alpha-One,” she whispered. “There’s some kind of quantum shielding in building ten. We are advancing visually.”
She shuffled forward, rifle up to her eye line with barrel lowered for a clear view. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her, the old excitement she had experienced during training scenarios. But this was even better—this was real. She had proven herself under fire, and her troopers would follow her anywhere. She felt powerful. In control. If only her father could have been watching.
She reached the doorway at the far end of the room and slipped through. In the dim light the walls extended away on both sides, and the ceiling rose out of view. Two meters ahead, a heavy black screen hung down to the floor and obscured all view. She stepped to the left. Sakiyama to the right. A flick of her thumb, and the tiny spotlight on her barrel lit up, directing a narrow but brilliant cone of light forward into the gloom.
The team shuffled in behind her.
Movement flickered in her light beam. She swung the beam side to side carefully. She saw a leg move. There was someone in front of her.
“Alpha-One—contact!”
Armor plates clicked behind her as her troopers reacted.
She raised her beam to shine at the man’s face. He was short and sinewy, like so many Cerberans. His hand tried to block the light from his eyes.
“Please,” he said softly, “put down your light. I have a lamp we can use.”
He held it up for her to see.
“Go ahead,” she said.
As he fumbled with it, she saw Sakiyama’s beam from behind her settle on a second figure who was crouched against the far wall. Although this was an equipment bay, the thick curtain to their right had reduced the space to a dark corridor. Much too close for comfort.
“This is the Terran Astral Force,” she said. “We’re not here to harm you. We are here to arrest Centauri agents who have committed crimes against our nation.”
“We are just farmers,” the first man replied. “We want nothing to do with outside wars. Please don’t hurt us.”
The lamp flickered on, and the space was filled with soft light.
The man with the lamp looked familiar as he stared openly at Katja with intense eyes. Those eyes were a brilliant blue against his dark, weathered skin, with wisps of white hair haloing his head. But she was the one with the gun.
“Thapa,” she said, feeling the rage growing within her as she advanced slowly. “I thought we were friends. You haven’t been very nice lately.”
Recognition ignited in his eyes.
Dropping the lamp, he screamed and lunged forward. Shadows danced as the lamp bounced when it hit the floor.
Katja pulled the trigger, but the wall above exploded as Thapa’s powerful hand knocked her barrel away. His small body crashed into hers. She stumbled backward, gasping as she felt her feet slip out from under her. As she pumped the trigger, explosions all around showered them with twisted material. She smacked against the floor. Thapa’s hysterical face filled her vision and she felt continuous thumps against her armor.
Then he was wrenched off her and thrown out of her vision. She saw Sakiyama move past her, shouting commands at the Cerberans.
She struggled to her feet. The abandoned lamp still cast illumination on the scene. Sakiyama pointed his rifle at the two men, both of whom were on their knees with their hands above their heads. Thapa glared with open hatred.
She could barely contain her own fury.
“Alpha-Two, take these prisoners into custody. We’ll clear them from the building and continue the search.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chang moved into her vision, dwarfing the two men before him.
“Remember me?” he said to Thapa, before smacking him with an armored backhand.
Thapa’s rage seemed undimmed by the blood that trickled from his mouth. Chang hauled him up and slammed him face-first into the wall. He expertly slipped on wrist restraints and threw him back down to the floor.
Katja keyed her comms.
“Sierra-Two, this is Alpha-One. Shots fired, no casualties. Two Cerberan prisoners. We are withdrawing from the building to hand off same.”
“Sierra-Two, roger,” Lahko said.
The second man was bound, and Chang took ahold of them both. Cohen and Alayan led the withdrawal out through the small room and into the brilliant sunlight.
Katja spotted at least five pairs of troopers covering them, and Lahko approached with a sixth. She turned to Thapa. He looked nothing like the meek farmer she had questioned before. Now all she saw was the murderer from the news footage.
“Thapa, you picked the wrong side,” she said. “And because of you a lot of people are going to die.”
He met her gaze fearlessly. “Starting with you, whore.”
Her fist smashed into his face.
“Listen up!” she shouted for all to hear. “This is the man—the actual motherfucker—who assaulted and murdered the Kristiansand crew!” Lahko came up next to her, and took Thapa’s ragged face in his gloved hand.
“This is the guy?”
She nodded.
“We’ll take care of him.”
He threw Thapa down. The Cerberan stumbled and fell awkwardly. Lahko kicked him in the stomach, almost absently, then nodded toward building ten.
“Must have been waiting for us,” he said. “We’re gonna bust this scene open.” Then he issued orders for four of his troopers to target the garage door with grenades. On his word, four more troopers targeted the pair of new shacks.
Katja said nothing. Lahko’s methods were a bit brutish, but she wasn’t in command.
“Sierra-Two, Drop Command. Air hostiles inbound from the south. Strike Cover intercepting.”
Katja glanced at Lahko. Enemy aircraft inbound. He reflexively glanced skyward, but remained focused.
“Fire!” he commanded.
Simultaneous explosions rocked the east side of building ten and the twin shacks as Second Platoon grenades impacted against the thin materials.
Katja raised her rifle instinctively, trying to keep both dust clouds in her view as the troopers advanced.
Her left peripheral gave the first warning as things went to shit.
33
The first trooper to reach the smashed opening to building ten flew backward in the air, his insides exploding out of his torso. A heartbeat later a trooper near one of the shacks collapsed backward in pieces. Then all eight advancing troopers were blasted apart, and silver machines came bursting into the sunlight through the dust.
Katja was running before she even formed the thought to do so. Heavy slugs punched into her side. Her feet went airborne. Her vision spun as the red horizon tipped ninety degrees and the hard surface reached up to smack her head.
She slid along the ground.
Then she was motionless on her side, explosions and shouting all around her. The gravelly dirt was warm against her cheek. She took a quick breath, coughing on the dust. Her left ribs ached with each cough.
Not daring to lift her head, she strained to take in her limited field of vision. Troopers were shooting on the run. Some were falling. Others were exploding. She could just see the silver glint of an APR past where her own feet were sprawled. It was rolling forward slowly, twin cannons spraying the air over her head with heavy bullets. Shoulder-mounted rocket pods tracked independently and picked off scrambling troopers. Its shining armor was already crumpling under the counterassault of Second Platoon explosive rounds, but Katja could tell by the explosion patterns that the rifle fire was random, panicked. The weak spots weren’t being targeted.
She lifted her rifle to aim, otherwise remaining still as the APR loomed closer. She gripped her grenade trigger. At this range, it was hard to miss.
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