From their briefing of only two hours ago, Mac knew this gravity-base derrick, situated nearly a hundred miles out into the North Sea, was the very latest in platform design. A floating, self-sustained city in one of the harshest environments known to man, she was also the apple of the Corroco Corporation’s eye. And the Corroco Oil and Technologies Corporation were not happy at being the latest targets of White Dawn, a group of eco-terrorists who had kept a number of security agencies around the world busy over the past thirteen months.
No one knew who the leaders of this faction were, or indeed how they were funded. The only facts available tended to support the theory that White Dawn operatives were highly trained, incredibly motivated, and skilled in a wide variety of scientific disciplines. Their goal appeared to focus on public embarrassment, rather than financial gain. More worryingly, if cornered and unable to achieve their objectives, they weren’t above making the ultimate gesture for their cause. Suicide.
The group was also thorough when it came to researching possible targets, and this evening’s venture was no exception. Husker-Trent was fitted with the very latest in AI camera-motion detector recognition technology. If unidentified persons approached, they could either be blown out of the water by .50 caliber rail-mounted cannons, or the rig would go into safe mode. Security bulkheads would lower to seal off the strategic centers of operations, emergency valves would cut off oil and gas pressure, and automated distress signals would be sent via com-sat and wireless. Additionally, the platform was constructed in such a manner that the drilling module was entirely separate from the run off vents, and the combined work-cum-habitat ring. The only way on or off was via the central helipad, accessed by any one of three retractable gantries. These safety features should have made it almost impossible for anyone to breach her security measures. The fact that White Dawn had done so this easily smacked either of exceptional planning and execution, or an inside job. Gold Command were hedging their bets and treading cautiously.
Mac zoomed in on a number of the defensive systems as he made his assessment. The thermal and electronic heads-up display emblazoned across the left side of his visor showed they were primed, tracking, and ready to deploy.
Difficult to get past, but not impossible. Not for my team . . . especially with what’s at stake.
He glanced at his radiological detector. The glowing red patches confirmed the presence of the real reason why Special Forces had become involved so quickly.
When it was realized Husker-Trent had been taken by an unknown number of assailants, contact between the derrick and the outside world was suspended. Negotiators and law enforcement agencies were put on alert and, as a precaution, the Special Forces Directorate notified. Standard procedure, especially where oilrigs were involved. However, when an opening dialogue was offered by trained mediators, they were resolutely ignored. Each subsequent attempt at communication was met by a similar wall of silence. No ensuing ransom demands or political statements were made, neither was a release of hostages offered. The prime minister was extremely worried.
When a high altitude fly-by was ordered, the drone quickly picked up the telltale signs of suspicious activity and the unmistakable signatures of a scattered number of nuclear devices. Odd; especially when White Dawn purported to be ecologically sympathetic. Needless to say, the discovery of such ordnance guaranteed a swift response. One with an aggressive focus.
As the lead team on the duty roster, Four Troop were deployed to gather intelligence, ascertain the reason for the attack, secure all radiological materials, and bring the standoff to an end. And we’ll do that all right! Mac thought as he completed his assessment, by strength and guile.
Smiling over his reference to the SBS motto, Mac gave a thumbs-up to his team and depressed his throat mike. “Gold Command, this is Sunray, do you copy?”
“Go ahead, Sunray.”
“Traffic lights are at green. Repeat, traffic lights are at green. Waiting for final authentication.”
“That’s a go, Team Four. Use of lethal force authorized. Gold Command authentication — Alpha, six, six, six, omega.”
“Alpha, six, six, six, omega, confirmed. From Sunray, we are now going dark. See you when this is all over.”
“Roger that, Team Four. See you on the other side. Good hunting.”
The radio went dead. Turning to face his section, Mac motioned for radio silence. Each team member moved to adjust their equipment to ensure they were cut off from all forms of outside communication. Once done, they switched to covert internals before checking back in again.
Facing his second-in-command, Mac said, “Mark, take Bravo Squad and tag the location of each radiological device. Let me know if they’ll be suitable for tactical removal or deactivation. Secondary protocol, ascertain strength and deployment of the enemy.”
Throughout the entire process, Mac didn’t have to raise his voice. The covert set enhanced his vocals until the whispers rang loud and clear in his teammate’s ear.
Sergeant Mark Stevens, a nine year veteran of special operations, raised his left index finger and tapped the side of his head twice. “Roger that. I am Bravo-one. Primary objective, locate and tag radiological devices. Secondary, ascertain strength and deployment of the enemy.” Addressing his squad members, he added, “Bravo confirm?”
Specialists Sean Masters, Richard “Fonzy” Cunningham, and Andy Webb both replied in the affirmative, going through their call-signs and orders in turn to confirm they fully understood their operating procedures.
Twisting, Mac continued with his own squad. “Alpha, we will be concentrating on the hostages. Preliminary sat-recon shows almost the entire complement of ninety-seven rig personnel are gathered together within the dining and kitchen areas. At least half a dozen managers have been relocated to the operations and radio rooms. Verification of their well-being is our priority. Secondary objective is intelligence, namely: rescue and casualty viability. I am Alpha-one. Alpha confirm?”
Specialists Stu Duggan, Sam Pell, and Den“Jumper” Collins sounded off in turn.
Once they had done so, Mac addressed them all again. “During the first stage, we will not engage the enemy unless forced to do so. And then, only in order to save life. If we do go hot before phase two, take them down. No quarter . . . understood?”
Seven thumbs rose into the air.
Moving his own hand in a circular motion twice, Mac clenched his fist and opened his fingers wide. Each of them moved to their designated points for insertion through the lining of the gravity-base pylon.
Forming an outward facing fan about the hatchway, each specialist paired off. They made sure to cover the movement of their teammate as they gained access. Having entered, the respective partner likewise kept on the watch for his buddy.
Mac was quietly complimentary of his men. Moving covertly was a time-consuming process. However, they were so well rehearsed that the maneuver was over in less than two minutes. Fast going, considering the change in conditions.
As last man in, Mac remained in the water the longest. When they had started to breach, the area was relatively calm, exhibiting a mild chop that had them bobbing up and down through six- or seven-foot swells. Nothing unusual. However, in the time that had elapsed since then, the sea had begun to heave alarmingly, as if agitated by a leviathan stirring in the depths. Mac was also sure he could hear the distant roll of thunder.
That’s odd. How did it move in so quickly? It wasn’t on satellite.
Adjusting his optics to get a better look, Mac let out a gasp. A solid wall of cloud and rain was moving toward them. Darker than the surrounding star-filled night, it was still a few miles out. Even so, he could see it seethed with a powering menace that gave him goosebumps. Mac couldn’t shake the impression that the approaching tempest was a missile, with the rig as the bullseye on its target.
“Alpha-one? What is it, Boss?” Being the first in, Mark was higher up inside the platform’s structure and had totally missed the change in weather.
Mac paused to check he was seeing things right.
A seething maelstrom of midnight black punctuated by bursts of lurid brightness charged toward them. Where it touched the sea, the water churned and frothed as if being distressed by a thousand propellers. Even at this distance, Mac was sure he could see the entire storm front rotating, both above and below the surface.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”
“Alpha-one? What is it?” Mark repeated.
“Trouble,” Mac replied. “I think we’d better crack on, gentlemen. Our evening might get complicated . . . real soon.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Lost Legion
Spinning his horse about in a frenzied dance, the general tried to rally his troops. “Form up! Form up on me,” he bellowed. The legionnaires closest to him rushed to obey. Slashing and stabbing their way forward, they attempted to counter the heaving mass of attackers swarming them from all sides.
Despite the mayhem, Quintus was well defended. Seeing this, Marcus chose to ignore the call. Instead, he fought his way back along the line to see how the rest of the column fared. Their professionalism made his heart sing. Although the swirling mists added to the confusion, having a tangible enemy in front of them had galvanized the men. They now had something to focus on. Barbarians to kill. Despite the hit-and-run tactics, his soldiers were at last able to vent their frustrations. And they’re doing it well.
Marcus flinched as an unseen arrow sped past his ear, taking yet another rider from his saddle. They’re targeting the mounted officers. These savages aren’t stupid. If they can remove the advantage of our cavalry, they’ll have us.
Catching Flavius’s eye, Marcus waved his sword in the air made a chopping motion toward the ravine. He knew they stood a better chance of surviving the ambush if they controlled the chokepoint across the river. The trees would also give any remaining archers an opportunity to increase their elevation and keep the approaches clear. Hopefully, they’ll get a better view through this damned fog. Why will it not disperse?
He watched as Flavius cast his gaze toward the chasm. Grasping Marcus’s intent immediately, he barked orders. In moments, more than thirty warhorses were battering their way through the intervening press of bodies. As they moved, Flavius organized them into a tight phalanx that Marcus noted with satisfaction decimated everyone in its path. He was also pleased to see Flavius commandeer every mounted sagittaria he passed. A wise decision. Their arrows will keep more of the enemy at bay while they consolidate a defensible position amid the rocks.
A grinning, wide-eyed fiend materialized out of the haze. Running forward, his blood-painted face and bare upper torso only served to make his visage more terrifying. Ghostly trails of vapor clung to his body, making him appear wraithlike in the moonlight. Marcus recognized the black and blue plaid of an Iceni.
Realizing he’d been spotted, the berserker warrior’s face split into a mask of hatred. Raising his bone club and long knife high, the maniac shrieked and launched himself at the centurion.
Digging his heels into Starblaze’s flanks, Marcus spurred his horse forward and yanked hard on the reins. Trained for battle, Starblaze reared as commanded, and lashed out. The sickening crunch of crushed bone followed, and the clansman dropped like a stone. Wheeling about, Marcus looked toward Flavius’s company once more. They had momentarily faltered as a huge knot of rebels impeded their progress. However, the pause was only temporary, the sheer advantage of weight and ferocity allowing Flavius and his men to move slowly forward again. Within the space of a few heartbeats, everyone who had stood between them and their avenue of escape was dead.
More mounted archers raced to add their strength to the charge. A break began to form, revealing a clear path through the sea of milling fighters.
We must seize this chance.
Marcus espied a signifier close by, safely protected within a shielded squad of men. Stomping and slashing his way across to him, he barked, “You there! Sound the advance . . .” Pointing toward the gnarled oak trees at the crossing, he confirmed, “. . . that way. Proceed by descending cohorts. Signal the Tenth. They are to begin at double time. Once they have passed this position, the rest of you are to march in extending box formation. Hold until then. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And don’t worry, once we’ve secured the ravine, I’ll make sure you get cavalry support.”
As the soldier issued instructions by horn, Marcus shouted across to the two closest groups of defenders, about forty men in all. “Extend a square around the signifier. Form turtle if you have to defend against arrows. This is our secondary rally point. Work slowly back toward the crossing so the rest can catch up.”
Once the officers had confirmed his instructions, Marcus sought out the general. He was surprised to discover Quintus had become separated from the main column by a mass of baying clansmen, each as desperate as the others to tear him apart. It only took Marcus a moment to realize why. The eagle!
The rebel tribes knew the significance of an eagle. To the legion, it stood for everything. Their honor, their reputation, their very reason for existence. Capturing it would be a great prize for the savages, even if they couldn’t defeat the army itself.
Not today, Marcus swore.
Both the general and the standard were protected by the entire first cohort. Despite their strength, they were dwarfed by an overwhelming press of plaid-wearing berserkers. All manner of tartans, in blue, green, red, and black swarmed the shield wall, revealing the appalling number of tribes involved. So hard-pressed were his comrades that no one in the main party had realized an avenue of escape had opened up behind them.
Spurring Starblaze forward, Marcus flanked the fighting. Drawing half a dozen riders to his side, he increased his pace and peeled in toward the square. Falling on the mob from behind, they cut an easy path through the unsuspecting attackers until they were within earshot of the general.
“Quintus. General! Fall back. Fall back, see?”
Drusus saw them first. Circling about, the colonel looked in the direction indicated by Marcus and started in surprise when he beheld the road that had been cut through the throng. He immediately turned to confer with the general.
A trumpet blast sounded. As one, the first cohort adjusted position to fall-in on the eagle and its officers. Once in place, they maneuvered again, adopting an open formation that allowed them to run while maintaining tactical readiness. The clansmen quickly recognized what was happening. Halting their attack, several warriors raised strange-looking horns to their lips.
Ah-ooooooooo. Ah-ooooooooo.
The battle paused for a heartbeat, then resumed in earnest.
What now? Marcus dropped in alongside Quintus, Drusus, and Aemilus Nerva, the Ninth’s aquilifer, and shouted, “Keep your eyes peeled. Flavius has secured the crossing. The rest of the legion is moving up to regroup. If we make a stand there, we can at least consolidate our position before deciding what to do next.”
“Agreed,” Quintus replied. “Thank the gods they chose to hit us here. The choke point will slow them down a little, and allow us to build some form of fortified defense. It’ll give us a chance to catch our breath too, if nothing else.” He shifted his balance in the saddle, and looked about in the confusing gloom. “Who knows? This damnable fog may even work in our favor. How much thicker can it get?”
Marcus could appreciate what the general was alluding to. In the heat of fighting, their eyes had adjusted to the conditions about them. The darkness. The murk. The coagulating haze that now clung to them like spider’s silk. It wasn’t until they all took a moment to step back that they appreciated just how bad visibility had become. And how vulnerable it made them feel.
Ah-ooooooooooooooooooooh.
A longer blast sent icicles trickling down Marcus’s spine.
“What the hell was that?” Drusus muttered.
“Better pick up the pace, Sirs,” Marcus hissed. “Get yourselves and the eagle to safety.
Use the cavalry we have here to assist you. I’ll bring the rest of the cohort in myself.”
The horses started nickering. An odd rumbling sensation made the ground tremble. Marcus didn’t know if these events were connected in some way or not, but the rotating miasma about them had thickened again.
The general glanced at his second, then at his aquilifer. Inclining his head, he acceded. “Very well. We’ll move the command post to a point between the stunted oaks we saw earlier and make our stand there.” Raising his voice, he commanded, “The Triari will fall back with the first cohort. All other mounted officers are with me. Protect Aemilus and the standard. Let’s go.”
As they turned to leave, Quintus glanced back over his shoulder. “Marcus, please make sure you bring the men home.”
“I will, Sir. Nothing will stop me, I prom–”
An arrow lifted the general out of his saddle. Spinning through the air, Quintus hit the ground hard before flopping over onto his back. As he came to rest, already dead, the astonished group could see a clumsily fashioned shaft protruding from his eye socket, waggling as if it were mocking their impotence.
“Move!”Marcus roared.
The mounted party leapt forward and disappeared into the fog.
Marcus cast about, incensed that his commanding officer had been slaughtered in such a cowardly way. The reverberations were louder now, more intense. Flickering sparks of light, like miniature streaks of lightning had begun to flare along the vapor trails. The wind had picked up too, and was starting to bite with a vengeance. Marcus found the experience strangely mesmerizing. Fighting off the urge to stare, he caught sight of the eagle bearer’s brother, Sextus Nerva, among the men.
An idea came to him.
“Sextus. Take the general’s horse and get Quintus back behind our new forward line.” Waving several other legionnaires over, he commanded, “Help him lift the body over the saddle. Quickly.”
The IX Page 4