War Fleet: Resistance

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War Fleet: Resistance Page 6

by Joshua James


  Thus, as the thin clouds floated beneath him and the island came closer and closer in view, a sense of nostalgia rose in him. A reminder of an Earth that he had pledged to one day return to. To settle down, have kids, once he and Kota had earned their way. But this nostalgia was short-lived when Captain Olsen’s voice came over the comms.

  “Redrock, you’ve got five enemy ships incoming, get in and out as quickly as you can.”

  Redrock turned to Kota, who was strapped into the co-pilot’s seat next to him. She turned back and raised an eyebrow.

  “Shit,” Redrock said. “How close? And do they have a lock on our position?”

  “We don’t know,” Olsen replied. “We don’t even have visuals on them, but they’ve shown up behind the planet on the en-scans. I wish I could tell you more.”

  “Affirmative. I’ll be careful.” Redrock no longer felt that sense of security. Instead, he started scanning the horizon for enemy fighters.

  Redrock turned up the dial on his dashboard to take up the intensity of the magnetic floor on the cargo bay. Admittedly, he hadn’t practiced too many landings in the last several years, but he couldn’t mess this one up — Olsen had commanded him to get in and out, after all. If he went too fast, he’d end up crashing. But if he went too slowly, then he could find himself vastly outnumbered by enemy fighters, and he and Kota would be toast.

  “Babes, check the map and give me some ideas on the best place to lay down,” he said to Kota next to him. He’d taken her out on some pleasure flights and given her an overview of the navigation controls. Now she was the best he could afford, given the Tapper didn’t have the staff to supply Redrock with an on-shuttle navigator.

  “Kota,” she corrected. Of course, they were still on comms. “We need cover, right?” Her tone was dry, and clearly she was a little pissed at him.

  “Yeah,” Redrock replied. He imagined for a second that he could see some fighters emerging over the horizon. But on second glance, they were just clouds.

  “There’s a clearing in the woods, next to a small lake. Can you land there?” She touched the screen, and a rectangle appeared on Redrock’s helmet display, outlining her suggested location.

  Redrock laughed. “Do lemons grow on trees?”

  “Just remember, I’ve got to look after my squad here.” Redrock knew Kota wouldn’t be so apprehensive if she were the one out in the field. She hated ceding control. But now, the Marines’ entire fates were in Redrock’s hands.

  “Everyone brace,” he called back to the rest of the Marines. “We’re going down fast.” Then he pushed the Extractor into a dive. Blood rushed to his face, and he set the shuttle’s course away from the brick-roofed structure and towards the wood that lay east of it. The canopy beneath approached fast, and Redrock couldn’t yet see where the branches of the trees were. But the ship contained sensors, and he’d trained to read the frequencies of beeping in his head that told him when he was getting too close to something he might crash into.

  He veered the ship to the left slightly so he didn’t hit a trunk, and then plunged through the leaf cover. The trees were closer together than he’d expected, and he had to turn the ship sideways slightly so he wouldn’t hit the one right in front of him. Then he saw another one straight ahead, and he banked the ship to the right again before the clearing came into view.

  But the shuttle was still plummeting fast, and Redrock couldn’t land it on its side. He focused on a swath of sandy beach beside the lake. It wouldn’t be the most concealed, but it would have to do. He pulled up the nose, so the back of the ship wouldn’t scuff the ground as he turned sharply. One of the Marines in back swore, but he ignored them. The Extractor rocked as he pushed the nose back down to try and land on the beach as smoothly as possible. It bounced once, then skidded along, creating a terrible grinding sound.

  And then it came to a halt. Redrock turned to Kota, who had her eyes scrunched shut. She turned to him, opened her eyes, and he smiled, to which she responded with a grunt.

  “Redrock,” Olsen said over the intercom. “Report in. Did you make it?”

  Redrock checked his helmet display for damage reports. “A few scuffs, sir, but nothing major.”

  “Glad to know you’re in one piece. The Arstan shuttle-modules have dispersed around the planet, and one’s approaching your location. I’m guessing they’re protecting high-profile targets, so Kota, make sure you work with the utmost efficiency.”

  “Affirmative, sir,” she replied. “We’ll get right on it.”

  Redrock nodded. “We’ll need to cover the ship up. Unfortunately, we couldn’t land in the most concealed location.”

  Olsen paused a moment, as if mulling the situation over. “Work on that with another Marine. The rest need to focus on the extraction.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Redrock said. He turned to acknowledge the stunning vista of what looked like a birch forest, rising above the distant shores of the lake, but he only glanced at it for a second before he opened the cargo bay doors for the Marines and leaped out of the cockpit to get to work.

  19

  “Aye aye, sir,” Redrock said over the comms channel, and Olsen felt a wave of relief rise in his chest. He had the utmost faith in Redrock and the Marines. Ironically, though a mining vessel engaged in very few planetside missions, he had some of the best soldiers on board he’d ever met.

  When he’d first met Kota and her squad, he’d been wary that Admiralty had placed them there should Olsen ever turn renegade and incite a mutiny. He was just being paranoid, of course. Though Kota had been a little distrusting of the captain six years ago when she’d initially arrived, that had quickly dissipated.

  He cut off the channel, and changed the view on the camera from the idyllic lakeside retreat to the planet offset against the emptiness of space behind. They could see the defense station now, albeit still a small blob, reflecting the light of the sun. It hadn’t shown any sign yet of considering them a threat. No attack ships had been sent against them.

  Arstan defense stations were modular, just like their ships. Some of their military leaders thought it best to keep them as a whole, rather than separate them into their constituent parts, until they had time to assess what they were up against. It was also possible that the defense station had sent all its attack ships inland.

  But then, if they knew the Extractor was on the ground, they also would know the Tapper wouldn’t abandon it without a fight.

  “Cadinouche, how long until they’re in weapons range?”

  “Around fifteen minutes now, sir,” the pilot replied.

  Olsen’s heart skipped another beat. When they got back the spatial detonator, he resolved to go down to sickbay for a cardio, but he certainly wouldn’t do that in a time of crisis. Not when the crew needed him here. “Schmidt, how are the shields doing?”

  “At fifty percent, sir. We should have them fired up by the time the defense station comes around.”

  That was something; at least they’d have shields. But this space station was likely larger and more formidable than the Okranti that they’d had to face in the Hardy-Myers sector.

  Olsen turned to the young engineer who was standing at ease by the doorway, there in case he’d need to help. “Get down to weapons bay, Chang. I want as much juice as possible in a single coilgun.”

  Chang raised his brows. “Even if it means taking the other one out?”

  “Even if. We may only have one shot at this. We need to hedge our bets in any way we can.”

  “Got it, Captain,” Chang said with a salute, and he rushed out of the bridge, a slight gusto to his step as if happy to have something to do.

  “Santiago, create two sub-displays on the screen. I want a live feed on the Extractor camera, and another on Kota’s uniform-cam.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  While Olsen was dishing out his orders to the crew, Novak was watching the events unfold, standing with an almost unnaturally straight back, with her hands folded behind it. She didn’t hav
e her fingers crossed, as Olsen would in this scenario. She turned to the captain once she noticed him looking at her.

  “Is there anything I can do, sir?”

  Olsen shook his head. “I don’t know. Can you think of anything you might do to make yourself useful?”

  “You seem to have the situation under control.”

  “Better than expected?”

  “That isn’t for me to say, sir.”

  Olsen chuckled. “Very well. Just let me know if you have any valuable advice to offer, without endangering the ship or my crew in any shape or form.” It was a condescending thing to say to his new XO, but she seemed unfazed.

  Olsen wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead. All they could do right now was wait as the defense station edged closer, hoping like hell that the Marines would get Fleet Admiral Frega out of there before things got ugly.

  20

  Kota and her squad approached Frega’s mansion, treading as silently as possible over the soft forest floor. Unfortunately, ground like this was noisier than it looked. They had to move fast, and so it was impossible to avoid snapping a twig underfoot or scuffing a hard sole against a rock. The mansion still was a good several hundred yards away, the sunlight reflecting off its full windows. The canopy above cast heavy shadows on the brick roof.

  They’d left Riley behind to help Redrock cover up the Extractor with whatever foliage they could find. That left Connery, Singh, and Turgin. The three men fell behind in a line as Kota led in a crouched position, signaling them forward every yard or so.

  As they moved, Kota couldn’t help but appreciate the freshness of the air. There wasn’t a sound around other than the soughing of the wind through the trees, the chirping of birds, the occasional chitter of a lizard, and the distant lapping of water on the lake.

  Suddenly there came a whooshing sound from above. Kota ducked behind a tree and then checked behind her that her squad was also taking cover. Kota craned her head upwards to see an Arstan shuttle coming down to land from behind. It had its wings folded out, behind which two rotatable landing jets were facing forward to slow down its descent. She’d seen a landing pad on the onscreen map in the shuttle, right behind the mansion.

  “We’re going to have company,” she said softly into her wrist comm for anyone who was listening. “Reinforcements will land in a couple of minutes.”

  “Do you think you can make it there ahead of them?” Olsen asked. He sounded tense.

  “No,” Kota said, “but we don’t need to. Connery, Turgin, you’re on distraction duty. Keep the Arstans busy while Singh and I head into the mansion to extract the fleet admiral.”

  Turgin was a young soldier with a baby face and slicked-back hair. He gave a sly smirk as if to communicate yeah, of course, we’ve got this and nothing can get in our way.

  “Wipe that grin off your face, Turgin,” Kota said. “We don’t know how many of them there are, so we can’t afford to get cocky. Connery, you’re in charge. Keep your companion in check.”

  “Understood, sir,” Connery said, and the full-bearded man nudged Turgin in the ribcage.

  “Good. Keep your comms routed at all times both to the captain and myself.”

  Turgin and Connery saluted simultaneously, and then marched promptly towards the landing pad to the right of the mansion. Kota and Singh continued onwards towards the mansion, still keeping their footsteps as silent as possible.

  Kota didn’t think the Arstan troops from the ship would have had time to deploy yet, but she found it unlikely that the Arstans would keep a retired fleet admiral’s home unguarded. This was confirmed by a guard post on the spacious lawn outside, a sprinkler hose snaking from it. She lowered her spec-visor and zoomed in to see one guard posted there, green smoke rising from a thick straight pipe within his reptilian jaws, while he scanned the horizon with two bulbous eyes. This one had patterns of red scales over the thick eyelids that rose over each side of his head.

  Two more were guarding a large single wooden door leading into the mansion. A shutter, composed of metal bars that seemed to slide down from the top, had been closed over this. The windows were barred off in a similar fashion.

  Kota took some photographs from her display and sent them up to the Tapper, but there was no one on the channel right now to respond to her. They seemed engaged in other things.

  “Looks like we’re going to have some trouble getting in,” she said to Private Singh. “Any ideas?”

  “Probably time for some explosives, sir,” he replied.

  Kota nodded. She’d hoped to avoid attracting undue attention, but it seemed that under these circumstances, they didn’t have any choice. Each Marine carried three standard-issue shrapnel grenades in their bandoliers, alongside one high-intensity plasma explosive.

  “Let’s wait for our distraction,” Kota said.

  She found a thick, gnarly tree branch, separate from the other trees around – this one with wispy blue flowers. She hadn’t been one for naming trees back home, and the number of species on alien planets made that even more difficult. But she could tell it would provide excellent cover for both her and Singh.

  She stalked over to it, and then signaled Singh to duck down around the other side. Then they waited.

  Soon enough, there came a crash from a distance and then the rapid sound of machine-gun fire. Light blossomed on the horizon, and the ground shook. Someone had just let off their high-intensity explosive, and Kota hoped that it was one of her men.

  The guard nearest the hut turned to the commotion, raised his wrist to his face, and said something in a rasping, guttural language. Two more rushed out of the guardhouse, but the two soldiers at the door remained in place.

  Kota and Singh would have to deal with them and the barred door themselves, for this was their chance to move in. She lowered her rifle and pulled the pin off her high-intensity grenade.

  21

  The defense station was massive enough for Olsen to fear it, although he’d been trained, at least from a tactical perspective, that it could be counterintuitive to think of an Arstan vessel as large or small. Each ship could act as one massive whole or as thousands of individual modules that reconfigured themselves into as many different configurations and formations as the Arstan commanding officer saw fit.

  The station at first looked slightly spherical, with jagged protrusions along its surface. But soon enough, it split into twenty or so constituent parts, each one deploying shield-modules that pushed forward in small lattice formations. They made walls between the Tapper and the station’s more vital stations, much like phalanxes would have in the ancient Greek ground battles that Olsen had studied in military history school. He scanned the walls, with their blue shimmer that hinted at the protective barriers that surrounded them.

  “I think I have something you can help me with, Novak,” Olsen said, not entirely facetiously. “How are we going to get through that?”

  “We don’t,” she replied. “Any attempt to pass between the shield walls will cause them to close in and trap us inside, leaving the station’s weapons to annihilate us.”

  “So let’s test the brilliance they gifted you with on the Wilson. What do you suggest in this situation?”

  “You should first ask your cyborg for feedback so that you can get the opinion of Admiralty AI. It looks like they’re still waiting for you to make your move. But that’s what you would have done anyway in these circumstances, isn’t it, sir?”

  Olsen nodded. “Rob, what’s the lowdown?”

  “Admiralty AI sees no option but to flee, and recommends doing so imminently.”

  “We’ve got Marines down there,” Schmidt growled, the burly weapons officer looking at the cyborg incredulously.

  “And a high priority target, if we’re going to get that weapon back,” Olsen added. “Leaving now isn’t an option.”

  Novak’s eyes widened. “Sir, with all due respect, if Admiralty AI makes a recommendation, we should follow it.”

  “We’l
l flee if we have to, but for the moment we haven’t even been engaged. Cadinouche, try hailing the defense station one more time.” They had already tried three times, but Olsen was hoping that a little persistence would get an audience and buy some time. But then, his Marines had already fired on the Arstans on the surface.

  Olsen looked up at the corner of the viewscreen, where he could see two of Kota’s Marines – Turgin and Connery – taking cover against fire from several Arstan troops. On the lower right corner, Kota or Singh had just thrown a high explosive at the mansion. It had erupted in a brilliant display of white, but the smoke hadn’t cleared yet, so Olsen couldn’t see the results. He’d better leave Kota to it. Too much micromanagement of a ground assault was a sure way to get his people killed down there. And up here, if he ignored the situation.

  “Sir,” Schmidt said from behind his computer, his craggy face lit blue from the glare of his computer screen, “the station’s powering up its weapon.”

  “What are we up against?”

  “23,000-Celsius laser cannons, sir. And incendiary pulse torpedoes.”

  “Dammit, they’ll wipe us out in one. Cadinouche, evasive maneuvers.”

  “I believe I can keep outside their range by moving us until their own shields are between us and them,” Cadinouche said. “But that won’t work as they get closer.”

  “We’ll worry about that when the time comes. For now, keep us out of the line of fire. And Schmidt, keep our shields powered up. Santiago, any enemy fighters inbound?”

  “Negative, sir. Although from the shape of the station’s module clusters, I think I can spot some hugging the outside of the structures.”

 

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