Galactar (Savage Stars Book 3)

by Anthony James

  “Yes, stay where you are, Private.”

  Movement on the tactical told Recker that two of the enemy transports had risen simultaneously from behind the battleship. They fired missiles, both aiming for the second of the Daklan shuttles. From down on the ground, Recker couldn’t see the enemy to get off a shot. The Graler fired, the Daklan fired and the Puncher’s Bandit guns targeted and fired.

  “We don’t have time for peekaboo,” Recker growled.

  He chose a destination, which was the place where Raimi had landed his rocket. He pushed the tank’s engines to maximum and it surged out of cover. Movement on the right sensor feed caught his eye and a flaming chunk of mangled alloy came hurtling down from above. It smashed with finality into the landing strip five hundred metres away.

  “We have lost a shuttle, Captain Recker,” said Jir-Lazan, calmly as if it was no setback at all. “I see you hope to surprise our enemy.”

  “Damn right I do.”

  Soon, the tank hit top speed and Recker offered it some blunt, verbal encouragement to travel faster. The shelter of the battleship seemed a long way distant and he willed the Puncher across the intervening space. A menacing shape dropped into sight, through the forest of landing legs.

  “Sir!” called Montero urgently.

  “I see it,” said Recker, steering the tank left and putting a column of alloy between the tank and the shuttle.

  “If we can’t see them, they can’t see us,” said Montero.

  The enemy flew into sight, hunting a missile lock. Raimi was fast and he got off the first shot, sending a perfectly placed rocket through the landing legs.

  “Yee-ha!” he yelled.

  The blast engulfed the shuttle’s nose, but the enemy fired in return, sending two missiles of their own at the Puncher, and a cascade of Lavorix chain gun fire smashed into the tank’s front plating. Swearing loudly, Recker steered right, seeking cover. The Bandit guns fired, destroying one missile, while the other evaded the chain gun slugs.

  That one’s got our names on it.

  To Recker’s astonishment, the inbound missile disintegrated right in front of him on the feed, no more than fifty metres from the tank, and the pieces were whisked away amongst a blurred wave of movement.

  “I’ll never call them cock-guns again,” said Montero.

  The tank’s velocity took it near enough to the landing leg that the enemy’s firing angle was eliminated and the drumming against the hull stopped at once.

  “No kill,” said Recker. He raised his voice. “Private Raimi?”

  “I’m not dead, sir. Damn near broke my ankle coming down that shaft so fast.”

  “Get back up there and close that hatch.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Like the worst bad smell, the Lavorix shuttle didn’t go away and it hovered out of sight, its burning nose creating a puddle of flickering illumination which was all Recker had to pinpoint its location.

  “They’re waiting on missile reload,” he said.

  “We’re going to reach that landing leg first.”

  “Yes we are.”

  Recker held course and the battleship’s immense form blotted out half of the sky. Smaller shapes darted across the spaces between the landing legs, and the tank’s approach brought one of the octagonal vehicles into sight, midway across the warship’s beam. The vehicle accelerated, spraying the Puncher with its chain gun.

  “Have this,” said Recker, firing a gauss slug into the armoured car. The impact flipped the enemy vehicle over and sent the wreckage skittering a hundred metres across the landing field.

  A shoulder launched rocket streaked into view from somewhere to the right, coming for the tank, and a faint clattering of small arms fire sounded against the hull. As quick as Recker was on the controls, the tank wasn’t agile enough to escape the rocket, which detonated on the Puncher’s front-right quarter. The blast was huge and obscured every sensor feed, but Recker put his faith in HPA engineering and held tightly until the screens cleared.

  “Moderate damage, sir,” said Montero. “Right side Bandit showing an amber.”

  The inbound fire stopped the moment Recker tucked the Puncher in against the landing leg. He knew the respite would be short lived and considered his options. Overhead, Jir-Lazan was trading fire with the second Lavorix shuttle, and, even though no more of the octagonal vehicles approached from the north-west, the enemy already had the upper hand in that they’d established themselves at the far battleship.

  “We’ve got to force a result,” said Recker. “If Jir-Lazan loses his shuttle, we’ll never get into this battleship.”

  Nobody wanted to try storming the other vessel. Even if it were possible, the casualties would be unthinkable.

  A second rocket shrieked across the feed, crashing against the edge of the landing leg covering the Puncher. Recker got the message – the enemy hadn’t forgotten about him. He slammed the joysticks left and the tank emerged from cover, with its gun pointing directly at the place he hoped to find the shuttle. The enemy vessel appeared, flying sideways from its hiding place. Recker took a shot, only to find he’d been lured into a mistake by the Lavorix pilot when the shuttle disappeared back into cover without fully revealing itself.

  Knowing what was coming, Recker threw the tank back towards the landing leg just as the enemy craft reappeared.

  “Too slow,” said Montero. Her middle finger was getting a workout today and she raised it at the enemy.

  The sensors picked up the sound of a howling gravity engine, as the Lavorix shuttle accelerated across the battleship’s underside, the pilot gambling he could beat the Puncher’s reload and deliver two point blank missiles into the tank.

  “Screw you,” said Recker.

  He didn’t slow the tank and kept it going sideways. As soon as he was past the right edge of the landing leg, he drove it forward, rotating the turret as he did so. The rocket soldier took the opportunity to fire again and Recker ignored the incoming rocket as he hunted for the shuttle. A booming explosion against the rear plating made the console buzz against its mountings.

  He found the fast-moving, heat-glowing enemy vessel, still rotating and still expecting to find the tank on the far side of the landing leg. The Lavorix pilot’s race against the Puncher reload failed badly and Recker put a slug through the shuttle’s plating, creating a huge, visible hole all the way through.

  “You go one way and I go the other!” said Montero in excitement. “Oldest trick in the book!”

  Recker was certain the shuttle was out of action, but he didn’t wait around in case it somehow managed to launch missiles at the tank. He guided the vehicle towards cover again, only to witness a second massive impact against the enemy vessel, this one coming from a different direction and resulting in unmistakeably terminal damage.

  “Sergeant Vance apologises for being late, sir,” said Montero.

  “Tell him he’ll have to shoot twice as many Lavorix to make up for it,” said Recker with a smile.

  Even as he spoke, Recker didn’t lose focus on the battle. The rocket soldier was becoming a nuisance and the final Lavorix shuttle was still operational. Not only that, small arms fire continued inexplicably to drum against the Puncher, as if the enemy thought the slugs from their gauss rifles were going to take out a tank. He shrugged mentally – if it kept them occupied, that was fine by him.

  Replicating the out-in feint of the shuttle, Recker drew the rocket soldier into sending another of his shots into the same landing leg.

  “Let’s take care of this bastard and his friends,” he said.

  With the attacking shuttle out of the way, Recker switched the Bandits to their secondary mode which the software programmers had appropriately named massacre. The right-hand chain gun was damaged and locked into a limited firing arc, but the other was fully operational. Both started firing at once and Recker steered the tank at high speed between the landing legs. The Lavorix foot soldiers became aware of the danger far too late to escape, and high-cali
bre gauss projectiles reduced dozens of them to bloody paste.

  Two more shoulder-launched rockets flew towards the tank, this time fired from places beneath the far battleship. One of the rockets crashed into a landing leg and the other hit the damaged Bandit, putting it out of action. The second gun continued firing, changing aim with terrifying speed. Recker did what he could to make the Puncher elusive, by driving it erratically and steering in and out of cover.

  “We’ve got Sergeant Vance with us,” said Montero.

  Vance wasn’t a man prone to hesitation or timidity and he piloted the second Puncher beneath the battleship, three hundred metres south of Recker’s position. The other tank had taken a rocket hit but wasn’t slowed and Recker was grateful to have another soak for the enemy fire.

  “You must destroy the remaining shuttle, Captain Recker,” said Jir-Lazan on the comms. “The Churner is almost out of ammunition and my vessel has suffered substantial damage.”

  Recker acknowledged and altered the tank’s course, aiming it directly for the opposite side of the battleship. The Bandit gun roared and the engines did likewise. In a cloud of kicked-up sand and grit, the Puncher raced from beneath the warship’s hull. A rocket came from the near edge of the second battleship, too fast to avoid. It exploded on the front plating and the interior cockpit light turned deep red.

  Ignoring the alarm, Recker searched for the second shuttle. It was currently out of sensor sight and therefore didn’t show on the tactical, yet he knew it was hiding between the Meklon battleships, waiting for its missile tubes to reload.

  “There!” said Montero.

  Recker got the shuttle – four hundred metres up and a similar distance north - in his sights. It was turning in the tank’s direction, but too slowly to launch its missiles. Recker fired. A whump of discharge followed his pressure on the trigger and a gauss projectile thudded into the shuttle, striking it towards the rear, rather than on the side of the cockpit where he’d intended.

  The force of the shot exaggerated the enemy craft’s rotation, bringing its missile tubes to bear a fraction of a second quicker. Recker tried to escape, knowing it was too late. He saw his death coming and snarled in defiance.

  Sergeant Vance came to his aid when everything seemed lost. The slug from the second Puncher struck the shuttle exactly where Recker had wanted his own to land. A hole appeared in the vessel’s armour and the surrounding metal shrank inwards from the force of the impact.

  Out of control, the Lavorix craft continued rotating, losing altitude as its engines shut down. Having seen enough and with several of his tank’s onboard systems flashing red lights in his vision, Recker turned the vehicle and gave it full speed towards the far side of the huge section of wreckage, intending to rendezvous with Jir-Lazan.

  As he drove the failing tank onwards, Recker did his best not to think about what he’d seen beneath the second battleship. The Lavorix had two of the boarding ramps open and a dozen or more of the octagonal vehicles were parked in the vicinity. He doubted any assault on the second battleship would succeed, leaving only one way to victory.

  “A Churner, huh?” said Montero, bring him out of his reverie.

  “That’s what the Daklan said.”

  “I’d best spread the word,” she said, sounding slightly disappointed.

  Recker smiled and shook his head. A short time later, he arrived on the far side of the debris wall and waited for Jir-Lazan to set the shuttle down. When the vessel landed, Recker was shocked at the damage it had taken and the fact that it was still flying was testament to how tough the Daklan built their transports.

  No sooner had he brought the tank to a halt than its engines shuddered and cut out. With a bone-jarring thud it dropped to the ground and Recker had no hesitation in ordering the evacuation.

  Not long after, he clambered from the upper exit hatch and jumped quickly from the hull to escape the intense heat spilling from its armour. Only once on his sprint to the shuttle did Recker turn. He caught sight of Sergeant Vance’s tank coming through the sandstorm.

  What really caught his eye was the tank he’d just vacated. The Puncher was a mess of half-melted alloy and heavily pocked from gauss impacts. The only undamaged part was the main armament.

  He smiled inwardly. Mostly the gun was all you needed.

  With the wind buffeting him and heavy particles of sand cascading against his combat armour, Recker climbed into the Daklan shuttle.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A squad of Daklan soldiers stood watchfully in the passenger bay. This was the first time Recker had been onboard one of their transports and he wasn’t surprised by the sight of bare walls, hard-looking seats and racks of weapons. In the rear of the bay, replacement combat suits and other spare parts had been dumped in a heap.

  “Move!” he yelled, turning and waving his crew and the rest of the tank’s passengers inside.

  Intending to speak directly to Captain Jir-Lazan, Recker hurried towards the open cockpit door. Unexpectedly, sand blew through into the passenger bay and a sense of alarm gripped him.

  The cockpit hardware was as predictable as the contents of the bay and Recker didn’t spare the pilot’s console more than a glance. A jagged tear had been created in the forward bulkhead and it was through this opening that the sand blew. Two of the four sensor screens were twisted and broken, while the other two feeds were fixed on the debris pile a short distance away.

  To Recker’s left, the backup pilot was dead, his body turned into a pulp by whatever projectiles had breached the shuttle’s armour, and his blood coated almost every surface, the smell of it sharp and unwanted. A second Daklan lay nearby, also dead.

  Captain Jir-Lazan was big and heavyset like the others of his species. He was sitting in the closest seat, his broad-knuckled combat gloves wrapped around the control sticks. The Daklan half-turned painfully and Recker stared into the deep green eyes of his opposite number.

  “I am dying,” said Jir-Lazan, indicating the enormous patch of blood on his chest.

  Recker couldn’t spot the source of the injury and didn’t waste time looking. “Corporal Hendrix, get in here!” he yelled.

  “You can fly, Captain Recker,” said Jir-Lazan, making a weak gesture towards the other seat.

  Without hesitation, Recker heaved the co-pilot’s body onto the floor. Even with half of its blood and innards missing, it required an effort and when the corpse thumped down, Recker took its place, his hands and arms covered in gore.

  “Upon your return, you will treat my species fairly,” said Jir-Lazan.

  Recker understood the meaning. “The mission spoils will be shared equally,” he promised.

  Corporal Hendrix appeared, dropped her med-box on the floor and sized up the situation. “Have you taken one of these?” she said, thrusting an injector into Jir-Lazan’s line of vision.

  “We Daklan do not take…”

  Jir-Lazan didn’t finish the sentence before Hendrix jabbed the needle into his chest. The Daklan didn’t complain and allowed her to attach sensors from the med-box to his chest.

  “Captain Recker, you are taking too long,” said the alien.

  “It’s in hand,” said Recker.

  He gripped the backup controls. HPA shuttles were usually basic and the Daklan equivalent seemed no different. Already, he’d identified the function of several control panels. Once you knew how to fly, it wasn’t hard to pick up on similar methods to achieve the same goal.

  “Commander Aston,” Recker shouted. “We’re taking off. Make sure Sergeant Vance knows we’re coming back for him.” He turned to Jir-Lazan. “How big is the crew in the Churner?”

  “No crew, human. I set it to automatic.”

  Recker had another thought. “What about your bridge team?”

  “Here and here,” said Jir-Lazan, indicating the dead bodies nearby. The others were on the second of the Aktrivisar’s shuttles.”

  “Damnit!” With all surviving personnel so close, Recker temporarily aborted h
is plan for lift-off. “Abandon the other tank. I want everyone on the shuttle,” he said.

  Vance and the other soldiers knew how to move, but Recker found it hard to remain patient during their evacuation of the second Puncher. As each precious minute passed, the Lavorix were more likely to bring the battleship into an operational state.

  “How’s Captain Jir-Lazan?” asked Recker.

  Hendrix didn’t lift her head. She’d cut open part of the Daklan’s combat suit and was using one of the med-box tools to cauterise the wound. Jir-Lazan’s grip on the controls was loose now and his head nodded, like he was falling asleep.

  “He’s not going to make it, sir,” said Hendrix. “The injury I can deal with, but I can’t replace the blood loss – not without proper med-bay facilities.”

  Jir-Lazan wasn’t dead yet. “You must destroy the Aktrivisar, human. And your own ship with it,” he said, his voice faint. “If you do not, the Lavorix will find us. We are not ready to face them.”

  “I sent a deletion command to the Axiom’s memory arrays before I left the ship.”

  “As did I for the Aktrivisar, human. Still, what price certainty?”

  The med-box gave two short bleeps and one longer note. It was a combination which Recker had heard too many times before.

  “Can you bring him back?” he asked.

  “If I do, he’ll only die again, sir. He won’t enjoy the experience.”

  Commander Aston stood in the cockpit doorway. “That’s everyone onboard, sir.” She saw the bodies. “Captain Jir-Lazan?”

  Recker nodded.

  “Damn,” she said. “Want me to let the other Daklan know about it?”

  It was a job Recker would have normally taken on. Right now, he had too much on his plate. “I’d appreciate that, Commander.” He pulled on the control sticks, testing their weight and responsiveness. Finding nothing he couldn’t deal with, Recker brought the shuttle vertically from the ground and held it level at twenty metres.

  “Should I try and move the body, sir?” asked Hendrix.

  “Please – I need someone on backup.” Recker knew just the person. “Private Montero, get in here.”