Suicide Mission: Unity War Book 2

by C. G. Michaels

  “Go, go, go!” An said at the top of his voice. They rolled out of the hangar, first Jaden, then An, and lastly, Fault. The remaining alien got a few more shots off as they left, but the most it managed was to clip Fault’s tail, and ordinary firearms weren’t made for damaging fighters. The laser zinged off the ship and ricocheted, doing the hangar wall some cosmetic harm, but nothing more.

  The humans hauled their Copperheads off the ground, fighting gravity in a way they didn’t have to when they launched from the Takarabune. On a warship, the fighters rolled into launch tunnels and were shot out from there straight into the null g of space; on planet, they had to leave the atmosphere before they were free of gravity’s pull.

  Once they were airborne, Fault took point so that he could open the wormhole when the time came, and they pushed their ships to the limits of their speed, knowing the Snappers wouldn’t lag far behind. Fault watched the compound, then the black, polished city, then the farms, woods, and deserts with all their rocks diminish below, and was at once happy to be rid of the planet and eager to come back and kick some alien ass—this time with proper weapons and troops.

  “Bandits on our tail!” Jaden said.

  Fault glanced down at his radar screen to find four real Copperheads coming after them. He’d expected that, of course—they all had—but he’d counted on getting more of a head start before the Snappers started cramping their style. The humans were still ahead, but they hadn’t broken out of atmo yet, and they had a fair distance to go before it would be safe to open the wormhole. Which wouldn’t be a problem except that the genuine Copperheads were so much faster than the mock-ups, which, despite all appearances, still had the engines of Banshees.

  He tried to coax more speed out of the replica, but she wasn’t having any of it; this was her top speed, and she was sticking to it. “Come on . . . !” He wished he could steal some power from another system—even life support would do, seeing as they wouldn’t be out here much longer if things went as they were supposed to—and he could have done that in his old Hydra back when he lived on the Mare Cognitum, but Banshees weren’t built like that.

  Fault watched his radar screen in dismay as the enemy fighters gained on them until they were in range, and then they opened fire. All three mock-ups broke into evasive maneuvers, splitting up to better their odds, Jaden and An covering for Fault so he could fly on ahead and open the wormhole, where Colonial warships would be waiting.

  At last Fault reached the coordinates where he was to open the wormhole, and the orb’s green light blipped on. Holding his breath, he activated the orb and put in the appropriate code—

  Nothing happened. With cold panic beginning to clutch at his insides, he tried again. Nothing.

  “It ain’t workin’!”

  His panic spread to Jaden; he could hear it in her voice. “Well, did you wait for the green light?”

  “Fuck me,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I must’ve forgot that part!”

  “After that, did you activate it?” An asked.

  “Yes!”

  “Input the code?” Jaden again. “Nine-seven-two-four-three?”

  “Yes, goddammit!”

  “Well . . . ” An faltered, sounding desperate. “Try jiggling it.”

  Fault stuck a hand out and angrily jiggled the orb, wishing they would give him some advice he could actually use—and then the wormhole opened, a pinpoint of white that blossomed into a colourful hole a mile in diameter. Fault let out a whoop.

  Jaden immediately opened a radio channel to the Takarabune. “Takarabune. This is Lieutenant Hext. Come in, Takarabune.”

  “It’s about time, Hext,” came Colonel Lange’s voice, and Fault heard Jaden sigh with relief over the comlink.

  “We’re coming home, sir,” she said.

  “I’ll leave a light on for you.”

  They entered the wormhole, leaving behind the Snappers, who didn’t want to be on the human side of the wormhole without their warships. Once inside the anomaly, the radio cut in and out, and their instruments went wonky, but they made it through to the other side unscathed, if a bit unsteady.

  The Takarabune and the Mare Cognitum lumbered in the pilots’ direction as their instruments began to right themselves, and Fault wondered how much hell there would be to pay for their little escapade once they were all safe aboard the Takarabune.

  And he wondered if two warships would be enough to do what they had to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Outside the wormhole

  Brid strode to the bridge, blistering hot coffee in hand, a battle cry going off in her head. They were doing it. They were going through the wormhole.

  Unfortunately, only some of them were going. Only some of them could go; the Colonies didn’t have the time or resources at the moment to coat all the Colonial ships with the protective casing that would shield them from the radiation damage the wormhole would inflict. Of course, getting too close to a sun could cause radiation spikes, as well, and every ship came across that on occasion, so they all—warships, cargo vehicles, everything—came equipped with storm cellars in which the crew could wait out the radiation while the ship cruised by the sun on automatic.

  But gathering an entire crew into a storm cellar took time, and so did getting them out and to their posts once again; and if they had to take time to get out of the storm cellar and to their posts, they wouldn’t be ready to fight the instant they emerged from the wormhole and entered enemy territory. And that could prove deadly.

  So while the Takarabune and the Mare Cognitum, which had been coated with Element X, went through, other Colonial ships would stay on this side, preparing as quickly as they could. The Takarabune had been fitted with the original orb that controlled the wormhole, and they would go in first, and not close the wormhole. A risk, that, because the aliens could easily jump through to Colonial space; but the aliens were capable of that anyway, and as long as the wormhole remained open, the Takarabune and the Mare Cognitum could stay in contact with the rest of the Colonial ships. If they needed to, they could call for help, and the other Colonial crews could take cover in their storm cellars and pass through the wormhole. Then they would just have to hope that no one fired on them until they could get to battle stations.

  But that was what the human race was built upon, wasn’t it—hope?

  She sat in her chair on the bridge and took the first sip of her coffee, burning her tongue in the process. “Are we ready?”

  Minke “Reindeer” Reinder, her chief helmsman, looked over her shoulder at Brid and nodded. “Ready, ma’am.”

  Brid took a deep breath. “Pilirani, open an intership and ship-to-ship communication to all Colonial ships.”

  “Yes, Captain.” The woman’s long brown fingers moved swiftly over the controls. She nodded to Brid when the channel was open.

  “Add a visual, please, Reindeer.”

  “Ma’am.”

  Brid didn’t normally like showing herself on her communications; she felt a shade self-conscious about the idea of other people seeing her on a viewscreen that measured sixty feet tall. But she thought this time she’d make an exception.

  “Fellow Colonials,” she said, “we stand together prepared to make history. This marks the first time a Colonial warship has gone through a wormhole, and the first time we have managed to take the war to our enemy’s doorstep.

  “We didn’t ask for this war. The aliens brought it to us.

  “Today, let’s bring it to them.”

  She heard cheers from her own crew as well as others. She had Pilirani and Reindeer cut off the communication and nodded to her helmsmen.

  “Let’s kick some alien ass.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  On the alien planet

  After Jaden had gone out, Garner had left Ilana’s side long enough to try to delay anyone coming in the room for them. He knew what he did wouldn’t prevent someone coming in; this door, unlike some of the other doors in the facility, was
wooden. A determined someone, particularly someone as strong as the Turtles, could force their way in eventually. But he intended to make them work hard for it.

  He inspected the lock, which was mechanical. It had a green button with a strange marking on it, and this he guessed was the power button. He pushed it, and the other buttons on the panel lit up, a Mardi Gras of colors. He didn’t know what to push next. There were two buttons at the top of his list for possible locks, one with a slash across a circle, and another with an X on it. He chose the X and heard a beep but nothing else. He tried the other one, and it rewarded him with the sound of a lock tumbling shut. All the buttons except that one and the green one went dark.

  He tipped the table over on its side, letting all the torture instruments crash to the floor. It made for a horrendous noise, and he was sure it would alert someone, but he didn’t feel he had time to be delicate. He pushed the table in front of the door. It created a teeth-grating scraping sound loud enough to be heard on Earth. Then he went back to Ilana, put her head in his lap, set his gun within reach, and waited.

  While he waited, he stroked Ilana’s cheek with his thumb. He began singing softly a song he knew to be her favorite, a song she often asked him to sing, not because he had a beautiful voice but because he had a rotten one, and because she wanted to hear him say the words.

  “I love you/You know it’s true/With my heart and soul/I love you/More than you could ever know.”

  The words caught in his throat; he stopped singing and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. He tasted blood there, and dirt. A tear fell from his eye onto her skin, and he used the moisture to smear away a little of the grime there. He began to rummage in his pack for water to clean her with, then remembered An had their only canteen. He had a few medical items, so he went through those and found a few alcohol swabs. He swept these over her face and hands, discarding each as it got too dirty to use anymore. Within a few minutes, he had gone through all the swabs he had.

  He could see her features more clearly now, the sweet pixy nose, the outline of her shapely mouth, the curve of her familiar (if thinner) face. He wished he could take off her manacles, but that would require tools beyond what he had here. The sight of the thick metal wrapped around her thin, abused wrists filled him with a helpless fury, as if the manacles themselves had caused her hurts and indignities. He hated the Snappers, hated them more and harder than he had hated anything in his entire life. He wanted to erase their existence, to tear them from this world, from the next world, from all worlds.

  She was breathing more deeply now; that, at least, was something. Her hair was full of blood and dirt, and he couldn’t tell where the blood had come from, but some of it was recent. He carefully explored her scalp with his fingers and found a bloody knot on one side. Whoever had tortured her last had hit her with something, and hit her hard.

  The bastard. Tears filled Garner’s eyes again, not just from sorrow, but from anger. He wished he could do the same things to her tormentor as it had done to her. It deserved that and more.

  “Ilana,” he said. He leaned closer, his voice a whisper. “Ilana, baby, can you hear me? I’m going to get you out of here.”

  He heard the sound, not too distant, of ships taking off: the Copperheads. Jaden and the others were on their way out of here. More than anything he hoped they would be safe and return with reinforcements to get Ilana out of here. He put his arms around her as best he could in this position. Her skin was cold, and she was shivering.

  “Hi.”

  He started at the sound of her voice, dry and raspy, unlike her usual smooth tones. “Hi back.”

  Sage green eyes stared up at him. “Am I dreaming?”

  He smiled. “No.” He got the glass of water he’d set aside, the water her torturer had left behind. “Can you drink a little?”

  “Lift me up.”

  He got her to a sitting position in which she was leaning against him, and helped her take some water. She drank too quickly and choked a little, but she had it all. She rested her head against his shoulder. He hugged her gently, feeling how fragile she was, and kissed the top of her dirty head.

  Heavy footsteps from down the hall got both their attention. Ilana went rigid, her head came up, and her eyes went wide. “Oh, God!”

  Garner held her tighter. “It’s all right,” he said, though it wasn’t. “I locked and barred the door. They can’t get in.”

  “They can get in,” she said darkly. “They always get in.”

  “I have a gun and grenades. We’ll be okay. I promise.”

  Her head dropped to his shoulder again, but her whole body trembled, not just with cold. Someone tried the door, and she shivered convulsively.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.”

  “What happened to your face?”

  “What?”

  She lifted her head. “You’re bruised and . . . Did you get captured?”

  She sounded so afraid for him that it broke his heart. “Briefly. But I got out, and I’m getting you out. We just have to hold on until help gets here.”

  She nodded, but whether she believed him or not he couldn’t tell. The someone outside had started pounding on the door, and Ilana moaned.

  “I’m getting you out of here,” Garner said again, and lifted her chin with his hand so he could look her in the eye. “I’m getting you out of here. I promise. No one will hurt you ever again. I won’t let them.”

  She cried then, and he wondered if she wept because she believed him or because she didn’t.

  “I’ve been in this filthy place since I got captured,” she said. “There were others here from the Galapagos. I didn’t know them well—not at first. But we talked through the doors of our cells, and we—we bonded. We all shared the same nightmare. You know?”

  “I know.”

  “They’re all gone now. I’m the last one. They’re all gone.”

  But did gone mean dead, or had they been taken away, maybe to the slave farm? But Garner remembered most of the slaves hadn’t seen Ilana in the time they’d been there, or at least they said they hadn’t.

  “Coutts . . . They dissected him. Brady, too. Found out what made them tick.” A terrible little laugh escaped her. Garner thought it sounded a bit mad. “They made us watch.”

  “God . . . !”

  The pounding outside had turned into loud thunks as whoever-it-was thrust themselves against the door in an effort to break it down. The door vibrated, but for now, it held.

  “They’ve been using us to find out about humans, about our biology, our resources. They have translation devices that turn their language into our Common Tongue. They interrogated us all the time. So many questions . . . It never stopped.”

  The banging outside grew more intense. The door shook, cracked.

  “I’m sorry,” Garner said. “I should’ve stopped you. I should’ve kept you from transferring.”

  “If you’d asked me to, I would’ve stayed,” she said softly. “I needed to know you loved me. I needed you to tell me you wanted me to stay.”

  It angered and confused him that she hadn’t already known he loved her. But she had always believed he looked at other women, that he flirted and thought about cheating on her. He found it next to impossible to convince her otherwise.

  And now here he was, nursing a crush on Jaden. More than a crush; it was serious. Maybe Ilana had just seen it in him all along, the things he had not known he was capable of.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, and buried his face in her hair. He knew now that it had been his fault, her ending up here. He should have loved her more. How hard would it have been to have asked her to stay? And that had been what he had wanted, hadn’t it? Or had he secretly wanted her to leave, so he could seek out a relationship with Jaden?

  “It’s frightening,” she said, “how much the aliens know about us. They know how to make us afraid. They know how to hurt us. They know what makes us sad.”

  “I’m sorry.” He couldn�
�t say it enough. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.”

  “I missed you, too, baby.”

  “ ‘Baby.’ So you haven’t found anyone else?”

  His heart twisted. “Of course not.”

  “Kiss me.”

  It seemed an odd request considering their impending peril, but then again, if you couldn’t kiss your lover when you were about to die, when could you kiss her? So he did kiss her, gently, without tongue, because both of them had broken lips and it hurt just to touch. She let him get away with it at first; then she wound her injured fingers in his hair and forced her tongue into his mouth, urging him to a more passionate endeavor. He complied, exercising care at the start, then getting more adventurous. She clutched at his hair, hard, then harder, hurting him.

  At last he broke away, breathless. “More,” she said, and tried to draw him closer. He resisted, already feeling his body respond, and knowing they had no time, no safety, for this.

  “Ilana, baby, you need to rest.”

  Her beautiful eyes narrowed. She suspected him of cheating; he knew that look. “Do you have any more water?” she asked sullenly. She refused to look at him now. He couldn’t figure out what had gotten into her, to want romance—or sex—at this particular moment.

  “I love you,” he said. “You know that, right?”

  “Do you have any water, or not?”

  His heart sank. “No. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry about a lot of things. But that doesn’t do me a damn bit of good, does it?”

  He wanted to snap back at her, but he also felt like crying. God, he was pathetic.

  “Ilana—”

  There came a loud bang! and they both jumped. The door had a sizeable crack in it; whoever was outside was going to come in.

  Garner readied his gun and waited.