The Fifth Reich: Knight Squadron - Ambush: Book One

by J Palliser

  "Destroyer Abraxahole. Of course I intend to resist. You've ruined my dinner plans for the evening and that makes me cranky. Besides, I'm Korsican, so you figure out the rest." He closed the channel and made sure his shields were even back and front. He reached for the throttle and headed for the retreating Defenders.

  "Very well."

  There was a blinding blue flash, and Aiden's ship gave a teeth jarring shudder. The hairs on his arms stood on end as static electricity coursed through the cockpit and blue lightening crawled over the Valkyrie like a swarm of insects. His engines cut out and sparks showered from his comm unit as every system went suddenly and decisively dark. Weapons, navicom, life support; everything was offline. Even K9, who'd given a hurried trilling screech, was rendered silent. If his diagnostics screen was working, it would have told him what he already knew: he had been hit head on by a gamma charge.

  Momentum was the only thing that kept his ship moving, and suddenly even that died as the Destroyer locked the Valkyrie in the grip of a tractor beam. Aiden let go of the stick, and slumped back into his chair. "Well, four out of twelve isn't too bad, and it's not over until I'm dead." He reached down and pulled a holdout pistol from under his pilot's couch. He wished he had his service pistol, but it was stored in the belly of his ship along with his other personal belongings. He checked the charge of the weapon, then sat back to wait.

  He watched with growing dread as the Destroyer's main hangar bay loomed larger and larger in front of him. He could see at least a dozen other ships of various sizes and types already inside. The eight remaining Defenders danced around his ship, in case he tried to make an escape.

  Aiden's Valkyrie passed through the magnetic containment field and settled slowly onto the deck. With no power to lower the landing gear or able to return to cruising configuration, the ship rested rather unsteadily on her nose and the lower wings.

  Two squads of troopers immediately surrounded the ship. What looked like a Naval Lieutenant stood in the rear while five troopers broke ranks and approached Aiden's Valkyrie. Two of them began working to open the canopy while the other three stood close by to cover the cockpit.

  As they finally found the manual release, all five troopers quickly covered Aiden with their MK39 carbines. A trooper, larger than the rest, stepped forward and Aiden slowly raised his hands. He had tucked his pistol into the front of his flight-suit. He hoped it wasn't too obvious.

  "Don't even think about trying anything." The trooper's voice crackled through the comm unit in his helmet. "Put your hands up where we can see them. Then very carefully and very slowly climb out of the cockpit."

  Aiden did as he was told, first easing up out of the seat then sitting on the lip of the cockpit. As he prepared to swing his legs over the side, his right hand lowered to steady him on the side of the ship. His left hand dropped to where he had concealed the pistol.

  He would have to act fast, taking down the troopers covering him. He had seen that K9 had recovered enough from the gamma charge that had hit the ship to be ready for a cold restart of the engines should it look like Aiden would have the chance to escape. Aiden would then have the insurmountable task of getting out of the hangar, making it past the tractor beam, the Abraxas's guns, her remaining fighters, and a Raqqa-class Cruiser. Sounds impossible, but the odds of survival must be better than staying here. What am I thinking? What use have I for odds!

  The truth was that, despite being Korsican, Aiden had a healthy respect for odds. Comes from being responsible for the lives of my pilots. But this is my life alone that we're talking about, and that is different. He thought briefly about Ajax, but dismissed it just as quickly. Thinking of her would not help him in this situation. It may even hinder him.

  He glanced over the heads of the troopers to the Lieutenant. He was a tall man with light brown hair that was graying at the temples. He wore the traditional gray of the Khawarij Navy. Even at a distance, Aiden could make out a pair of piercing blue eyes.

  Their eyes met briefly and the Lieutenant stepped forward. He obviously had dealt with this kind of situation before. He pointed his pistol at Aiden's head. "Hold it! Get your hands up higher." The officer motioned to the large trooper. "Trooper 285, take off his helmet and leave it in the ship. Then get him down from there and search him!"

  The trooper stepped forward and roughly removed Aiden's helmet. He was then violently yanked out of his cockpit. As his boots hit the deck, two of the other troopers grabbed him and forced him face down onto the cold steel plating. His flight-suit was searched, his pistol found and removed, and then his hands bound painfully at the small of his back. He was hauled upright again and half led, half shoved over to the Lieutenant.

  "You guys seem to be awfully worried about one fighter jock," Aiden quipped.

  The big trooper backhanded him across the mouth with a heavily armored hand. Aiden felt his lip split with the impact and tasted blood in his mouth. He saw stars and unwillingly dropped to his knees. "Shut up, you piece of shit. You'll speak only when you're told to."

  Even from the deck, Aiden could see a trooper come around the side of his ship and stop at attention in front of the Lieutenant. "It's definitely Hunt, sir. Here's the homing device. And half this side of his fighter is covered with kill silhouettes, including the Executioner and Lucifer. His mech-droid has been deactivated and a restraining bolt placed on it."

  Forcing himself to appear indifferent, Aiden looked up at the Lieutenant, but an icy lump formed in his stomach. They were waiting for me. That means somebody sold me out. I hope I live long enough to find out who it was.

  The Lieutenant grabbed Aiden by the shoulder of his flight-suit and tugged him up onto his feet. "It's him all right. I've seen his wanted posters. Doesn't look like much, does he?" There were scattered snickers throughout the group.

  Aiden knew what would happen before he opened his mouth, but the Korsican in him couldn't resist the urge to say it. "I don't have to look like much. Your vape bait shit pilots don't last long enough to see that much of me anyway." He steeled himself for what he knew would come, and the troopers didn't disappoint him.

  The butt of a carbine rifle slammed into his stomach, doubling him over, then another blow caught him over his right eye and he went down on the deck again. With his hands bound behind him, all he could do was pull his knees up in an effort to deflect some of the kicks and blows. But they came from every direction at once. He felt a sharp pop in his side, and each breath became agony.

  Aiden heard the Lieutenant order them to stop, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a white boot aiming for his head. It was the last thing he saw before everything went mercifully black.

  ***

  Admiral Samra had appeared through the door to the hangar just as Lieutenant Hashir's troopers removed the unconscious pilot. They left a small trail of blood as he was dragged across the hangar floor.

  Hashir studied the Admiral with discomfort. In the years he'd been with the Khawarij, he'd seen all manner of savagery, and known all types of commanding officers. But in all that time, he had never seen the equal of Omar Samra as far as cruelty. Except possibly the one time he'd seen Lord Vesuvius in person.

  Samra had dark eyes, almost black, an aristocratic face with sharp features framed with jet black hair. Although tall and exceptionally lean, Samra was in excellent physical condition. He kept himself that way with rigorous training, including regular hand to hand combat with a variety of mechanical, human and non-human opponents. Hashir had seen Samra best, and kill, a skilled Waffen-SS trooper during one of his "workouts."

  "I trust that your men didn't kill him, Lieutenant." Admiral Samra's dark eyes seemed to bore straight through the Lieutenant's, and he resisted the urge to take a step backwards.

  "No, sir. He's being taken to the brig."

  "Excellent. It would be most unwise to deprive Prefect Tanweer the pleasure of killing him. It would be a pity if you or one of your men had to serve as a replacement simply because you had been too
enthusiastic." A vicious smile formed on the man's thin lips. "I imagine it will be very entertaining. I'm looking forward to the death of this filth. And I am sure the Prefect will make the wait most painful for him."

  Samra's delight at the prospect of pain and suffering briefly flickered through his eyes. Hashir suppressed a shiver.

  "Hashir, in order to ensure the gratitude of Prefect Tanweer, I would like for you to deal with this Hunt. I want you to use your talents to keep him healthy enough that he will survive through to the ceremony, especially when he's taken down to the planet. I know how the Prefect can be. In her enthusiasm, she may kill him before the monument can be completed. That would make us most unhappy."

  "Yes, sir. I will see that he's taken care of."

  "Splendid. Inform me when he's conscious. Dismissed." Samra waved his hand toward the door, making it clear that Hashir should leave.

  "Yes, sir." Hashir saluted then hurried out of the hangar. Once the door closed behind him, a shiver went through him at the thought of what Samra and Prefect Tanweer probably had planned for the Luftwaffe pilot.

  8

  VII

  Even though he'd been conscious for a while, Aiden kept his eyes closed and lay perfectly still. His hands were still bound tightly behind him and he was starting to lose the feeling in his fingers. He listened intently to the sounds around him, orienting himself to his surroundings as best he could.

  He was also giving himself a thorough, and in his opinion, well deserved chewing out.

  That was really stupid, Hunt, baiting them like that. What were you thinking? You've obviously spent too much time around Jarro. You're supposed to have a cooler head than that. Somebody should put you on report.

  He opened his eyes slightly and cringed at the bright lights overhead. He shifted positions and all of the different pains that had coalesced into one mind-numbing ache separated again into scattered bits of misery. The troopers had been pretty thorough. He took a deep breath and winced with the effort, then began mentally taking inventory.

  I've definitely got some cracked ribs. Probably some pretty badly bruised ones, too.

  He ran his tongue gingerly across his split lip and tasted dried blood.

  The sore spots on my right hip and ass mean that I've been lying in this one spot for a while. Beyond that, I've still got one or two places that don't hurt, so I guess I'll live. For the moment, anyway.

  He looked around, found his vision a bit blurred, and knew that his right eye was swollen from the blow he had taken to that side of his head. He hoped that he didn't have a concussion. He could see and feel enough to know that he was lying on a very hard bunk in a small detention cell. Beneath him, he could feel the thrum of the Destroyer's huge drive engines.

  The first order of business is to get more comfortable.

  Swinging his legs off the side of the bunk, he struggled to sit up. When the nausea and waves of dizziness that the movement caused hit him, he wondered why he'd been in such a hurry.

  After a few painful deep breaths, his head cleared somewhat and he slowly got to his feet. He brought his hands down to the back of his knees then sat again. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he worked his bound hands beneath him, and then up and over his feet and legs until they were in his lap. He had used this trick often as a child when some of the children at his school had decided he made a convincing prisoner and tied him up. He was pleased that he was still nimble enough to accomplish it.

  Guess it comes from wriggling around in a cockpit trying to get comfortable on those long gravity-drive flights.

  He crossed his right ankle over his left knee and began to work on the heel of his boot. Specifically, he worked to free a thin sliver of metal, about five centimeters long, from the place where he'd concealed it. Finally it came free. In less than a minute, he had the binders unlocked, the "key" hidden again, and was rubbing feeling back into his bruised wrists.

  Thanks for the lock-picking lesson, Dallas. That's another one I owe you.

  He smiled at the memory of the big Korsican smuggler's "survival lessons" and of his parent's reaction the first time he'd unlocked a cabinet for his mother at the refueling depot when she'd misplaced her keys. As punishment, he'd been assigned to clean out the oil dump tank in the main repair bay. It was a job he had absolutely hated. It had taken him two days to clean the tank, and three days to wash the oil out of his hair and skin. Still, he'd give anything if his dad could give him the same chewing out and punishment again. He wouldn't even grumble about it this time. But that had been a long time ago, and light years away.

  Watch it, Hunt, you'd better keep your mind on the here and now. You've probably got enough problems to keep you occupied for a while.

  He could hear the approach of several people, their hollow steps falling on metal grating in the corridor. He leaned back on the bunk on one elbow, grimacing as he put pressure on his cracked and bruised ribs. But by the time they entered his cell, he was casually twirling the binders around on one finger. Two troopers stopped in their tracks when they saw the binders, and the Lieutenant Aiden had seen in the hangar bay walked into them.

  "You guys forgot these. I don't think I need 'em anymore." Aiden gave them his most roguish of smiles, one that he knew to be extremely aggravating.

  The Lieutenant stepped around the troopers and snatched the binders from him. He motioned to the trooper on the right and he advanced, shoving Aiden back on the bunk. He pinned him there with a knee on his chest, putting pressure on Aiden's already injured ribs, while his armored hand went around his throat. "Where's the pick?"

  Aiden's breath left him, and getting it back wasn't easy. "Right boot heel," he managed to wheeze.

  Keeping Aiden pinned, the trooper motioned to one of the other troopers. "Get it."

  "Yes sir." The man knelt and managed to remove the pick from the boot. "Got it, sir."

  "Now, hotshot, you got any more little secrets hidden anywhere? 'Cause if you make me search you, I promise that you won't enjoy it at all."

  The Lieutenant was watching him intently. Aiden was sure that he expected to see at least a little fear in his eyes. Most people would be terrified if a Khawarij trooper was kneeling on their chest.

  What was that myth that Ares repeated to our new recruits? 'Aiden Hunt has enough ice water in his veins to replenish Korsica's polar caps.' I wish that were true.

  "No. That... that was it." He tried to take in a deeper breath and failed. "You got everything else the first time," he squeaked.

  The Lieutenant had backed away from the bunk and was speaking quietly into a comm. He finished speaking and returned to the bed, tucking the communications device into a small pouch on his belt. "Get up and behave. The Admiral wants to see you." Hashir nodded to the trooper pinning Aiden, and he released the pilot. "You've got plenty of balls, I'll give you that. You had to push, just to see what would happen."

  "Wouldn't you in my place?" Aiden slowly hauled himself to his feet, grimacing at the effort. Dizziness hit him again, and he had to sit back down on the bunk until it passed.

  Aiden expected and braced for a blow, but it never came. He looked up to see the Lieutenant watching his every move with a mix of distrust and curiosity. "I suppose I would," he said quietly. "Bind his hands."

  Aiden met the Lieutenant's gaze unflinchingly and offered his hands to him to be bound. But he just stepped back to let one of his troopers approach. The trooper twisted Aiden's arm roughly behind him, but the Lieutenant stopped him. "Bind him in front."

  "But sir, he's already..."

  "I said bind him in front. He's probably got a concussion and he can barely stand, thanks to you. He'll have more balance if his hands are in front. I don't want to have to keep picking him up off of the deck."

  "Yes sir." He did as he was told, and then the two troopers took up positions on either side of their prisoner.

  Hashir turned to Aiden. "But if you give us any trouble, you'll get more of what you got in the hangar bay. Is that unde
rstood?"