Death Skies (Fire and Rust Book 4)

by Anthony James

“Waiting to launch,” he said. “Someone’s got to be out in front.”

  The lack of visual was more than Griffin could bear and he sent the Hurricane into a steady descent. It felt like he was flying through soot so dense that it was dragging at the hull and making the controls sluggish. He knew it was fanciful and he angrily told himself to focus.

  “Altitude - one hundred klicks,” he said. “Tell me what you see.”

  “Whatever’s beneath us, it isn’t natural, sir,” said Dominguez. “Looks like buildings.”

  The underside feed turned white from the detonation of a nuclear missile launched from elsewhere. It was a huge blast and it nearly caught the Hurricane in its upper reaches.

  “Watch out you crazy bastards,” said Griffin.

  He threw the ship into a steeper descent and increased speed to put some distance between the Hurricane and whoever it was saturating this part of Qali-5. The altimeter fell and the smoke was thicker close to the ground. In spite of that, the warship’s sensors were sophisticated enough to deal with the industrial smoke once the altitude fell to thirty thousand meters. In fact, they snapped into an image of startling clarity, the sight of which drove home exactly how powerful a foe the Raggers presented.

  “Whoa look at all this!” said Shelton.

  For as far as Griffin could see to the north, the planet was hidden beneath alien structures, built exclusively from a variety of dull metals. He saw vast, square buildings, domes, featureless towers and tall antennae. Elsewhere, a flat expanse of alloy eighty klicks from one side to another was riven with warship construction trenches, each and every one holding a part-built vessel for the Ragger fleet. Stacks of armor plates, engine modules and weapons systems surrounded the shipyard, with some of the piles being well over a thousand meters in height and far more at the bases.

  Lifter shuttles, immense floating cranes and heavy-duty crawlers, all made tiny by the distance, moved everywhere like an army of metal soldiers. This one yard alone was far bigger than anything in the Unity League and when the Hurricane was past it, Griffin saw another like it on the horizon.

  “The Gradior just nuked them,” said Shelton. Then, she swore in a mixture of awe and horror. “Look at the size of that blast!”

  Griffin saw the same thing too. The Gradior’s nuclear warheads completely obliterated the shipyard. Not only that, but the Fangrin deployed more of their nuclear arsenal to the east and west. Everything turned white and Griffin was put in mind of a tidal wave made from cleansing flames, rushing onwards across Qali-5 and sweeping away everything before it.

  A torrent of heat, light, gamma radiation and a dozen EMPs washed across the Hurricane. For a moment, every sensor shut down, before they sprang once more into life. Griffin hadn’t seen anything like it before and he had no understanding of his emotions. With the Hurricane riding the wave, Griffin did his duty.

  “Launching underside missiles.”

  He targeted areas to the east and west, to allow the Hurricane time to fly out of range. The lock confirmation light turned green and he pressed his thumbs firmly on the launch triggers. A boom of igniting propulsion detonators rumbled through the floor and then the missiles were gone – four half-gigaton specials that the Unity League had likely never thought would see operational use.

  “Missiles on their way,” Dominguez confirmed.

  “Ground launch preparations detected,” said Shelton.

  “Got it. Shredders locked and gone,” said Jackson, her voice still sounding like it was forced out through a half-constricted throat. “Ultor-VI missiles on their way.”

  The ground launchers knocked out one of the four nukes and were a fraction late on the other three. What had a moment ago been a wave of nuclear fire, suddenly appeared to come from everywhere, as though the Hurricane was in the blazing center of a star, rather than above one of the Raggers’ industrial hearts.

  The warship’s hull heated up fast. The alloys had an incredibly high melting point, but they couldn’t withstand anything like this. Griffin gave the Hurricane more power and it lunged for the horizon, trading nuclear fire for atmospheric friction. The nose glowed orange and everything else became a dull red.

  Griffin moved one hand to his console and selected a second target area, this one an industrial complex to the north-west, filled with high, flat-roofed buildings. Chimneys protruded everywhere amongst them, belching out clouds of smoke.

  “Launching Ultor-mounted missiles.”

  He hit the complex with four low-yield nukes and sent another four into the distance, where the Raggers had constructed a forty-kilometer row of industrial plants along the shores of an ocean.

  The first four hit their marks, while two of the second wave were taken out by ground-launched interceptors. Lieutenant Jackson struck back with Ultor-VIs and Griffin sent another couple of nuclear missiles in their wake. Once again, everything was turned white and then incinerated by the deployment of age-old technology.

  “This is unreal,” said Shelton.

  “Yeah, somebody pinch me,” said Kroll, with a similar tone of disbelief.

  The Hurricane’s forward array detected the presence of structures consistent with Ragger mine workings. Griffin hardly needed to think about it. He activated and launched one of the large payload missiles and sent it straight into the middle.

  The warhead was still in flight when Griffin spotted other Ragger buildings. He fired another two east and another one west. The range was a little close for comfort and he took the spaceship higher. It seemed as if the smoke had thinned, though it swirled furiously in the violent wind which had sprung up in the wake of the devastation.

  The warheads hit their marks, producing more light, more heat and bringing everlasting pain to the Raggers. Griffin found himself acting almost without thought, as if his mind had detached itself from the carnage below.

  “Launching,” he said.

  “Ultor-VIs targeted. Shredders away.”

  “The Gradior is back in sensor sight,” said Dominguez. “Along with the Diandol and the Combatant.”

  “Admiral Kolb reports AF2-1 and AF2-2 have met unexpected resistance,” said Kenyon. “She is sending ten of the standby ships to assist.”

  “How much resistance?” said Griffin sharply.

  “Checking, sir.”

  Kenyon switched comms channels and Griffin launched more of the Hurricane’s arsenal, this time at what he suspected was a repair yard for the Ragger fleet. Fifteen or twenty of the enemy warships were parked up in front of several huge storage buildings. Not one of the spaceships gave an indication that it was trying to get airborne and the alarm had gone up long enough ago to give them plenty of time. Two nuclear missiles ensured they’d never fly again.

  “AF2-1 and AF-2 have run into a bunch of Ragger spaceships which lifted off before our ships could knock them out,” Kenyon confirmed.

  “Is it in hand?”

  “I don’t know, sir. The comms team on the Trojan are gathering details. Our orders are unchanged.”

  “No let up for the Raggers.”

  The landmass beneath ended and the Hurricane flew over a rocky coastline and out across the sea. Here, the smoke was still present, but much lessened. The sensors were able to see far ahead, until the curvature of Qali-5 hid the rest from sight.

  For a moment, Griffin was more interested in the view behind, rather than the one in front. The rear arrays told a story that defied belief. Everywhere, mushroom clouds blossomed upwards and outwards, making it seem like an otherworldly painting from the mind of an insane, tormented artist. The roots of these mushrooms were planted in a thick loam of orange fire, which burned as far as the eye could see. Amongst it all, the pollutants swirled, making everything hazy and indistinct.

  It was a sight Griffin would never forget. He shook his head and blew out the breath he’d been holding. With a wrench, he diverted his attention once more to the front. The ocean rolled by and Dominguez reported it to be much shallower than she expected.

&
nbsp; “It’s like the Raggers are sucking the planet dry. I guess they must have a use for all that water.”

  “Not anymore, Lieutenant.”

  A group of five cargo vessels waited stationary ahead, only a few meters above the ocean. Griffin assumed their crews were laying low to evade detection. Their efforts failed and Lieutenant Jackson filled them with plasma missile holes. The cargo ships were big enough that the Hurricane couldn’t finish them off in a single salvo, but Griffin didn’t waste time stopping for such low-priority targets.

  “Next land mass coming up,” said Dominguez. “More of the same shit.”

  Griffin checked the Hurricane’s missile stocks. It was carrying plenty to keep up the bombardment. With so much explosive force available, Griffin didn’t see the need to be choosey about his targets. He selected a couple of areas and prepared to launch missiles. Before he could depress the launch triggers, he was stopped by an urgent voice in his earpiece.

  “Sir, hold fire!” yelled Kenyon.

  “What is it, Lieutenant? Quickly!”

  “A signal, sir! Coming from the surface. One of ours.”

  Griffin was utterly mystified. Qali-5 was unknown to the Unity League until a short time ago. It was inconceivable for a friendly signal to be emanating from the surface.

  “This has got to be a mistake, Lieutenant.”

  “No, sir, definitely no mistake,” said Lieutenant Faulkner, backing up Kenyon. “There’s a Priority 1 signal coming from approximately fifty klicks north-east.”

  “The Gradior has picked up something as well, sir,” said Kenyon.

  “What the hell is going on, gentlemen?” demanded Griffin. Reluctantly, he reduced speed in order that his comms officers could find answers.

  And find answers they did, though not ones anyone had expected at the beginning of this mission.

  “Sir, this is a signal from Fleet Admiral Stone’s personal distress beacon.”

  In the absence of a more intelligent response, Griffin said the first word that came to his tongue.

  “Shit.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Fleet Admiral Stone is dead.” As soon as Griffin spoke the words, he realized how stupid they sounded. “At least, we thought he was dead.”

  “The Gradior requests that we hold fire, sir. The transmission they have picked up comes from one of their governors.”

  “We’ll hold. Make every other warship in AF2-4 aware. Once you’re done, make sure the Trojan’s comms team passes on the same message to the other three attack groups.”

  “You’re requesting a total ceasefire, sir?”

  “Not a total one. Nothing within a hundred klicks of the transmission source.”

  “Roger that, sir,” said Faulkner. “I’ll spread the word.”

  Griffin couldn’t believe it. On this day of all other days. ULAF high command had studied the known facts and concluded that Fleet Admiral Stone and everyone with him had been killed in the Ragger surprise attack on the Fangrin space station.

  “Lieutenant Kenyon, could the enemy fake this?” he asked.

  “Not easily,” Kenyon replied. “Admiral Stone’s personal transmitter produces a new code every time it sends data. Like anything else, it’s possible to crack, but this is top-end stuff we’re talking about.”

  “Check with the Gradior – I want their opinion.”

  “One moment.” Kenyon switched channels briefly and then returned with the answer. “Captain Isental on the Gradior confirms the authenticity of Governor Wrekstin’s transmission also, sir.”

  “I want to speak to Captain Isental.”

  “The channel’s still open, sir. I’m moving you into it.”

  The connection was strong, in spite of the crap floating around in Qali-5’s atmosphere. Captain Isental’s voice was gruff and it made him sound like he was pissed off.

  “We Fangrin do not abandon our people, Captain Griffin.”

  The Unity League didn’t either, though it was able to take a balanced approach to the subject. Fleet Admiral Stone was the head of the ULAF and, fair or not, his life carried more weight than most others and Griffin had a suspicion that Admiral Kolb would chance something here. Which would be good, since it didn’t sound as though Captain Isental could be persuaded to leave Governor Wrekstin behind.

  “I understand,” said Griffin. “It is time to seek guidance.”

  “We must enact an immediate rescue, human.”

  Griffin wasn’t willing to commit to anything until he heard Admiral Kolb’s orders and he closed out of the channel without giving his agreement.

  “Get me Admiral Kolb.”

  “She’s waiting for you already, sir. New channel, I’ll bring you in.”

  Kolb sounded more ruffled than usual. She offered no greeting and got on with business. “Your comms officers are convinced there is no error in our understanding of the signal’s origins. That means we have located Fleet Admiral Stone.”

  “I trust the word of Lieutenants Kenyon and Faulkner, Admiral. I must make you aware that the captain of the Gradior is not amenable to any response which is not a rescue.”

  “Then he won’t be disappointed. I’ve forbidden any detonations within a hundred klicks of the source, like you suggested. I’ve also ordered two of the troop transports to the surface. The Hurricane and the Gradior are to ensure they land safely.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Pressure is building upon us, Captain. We have accomplished much of what we came here to do, but further from your position, the Raggers are pushing hard.”

  “Can we defeat them?”

  “This is not the time for discussion. The transports are on their way. Watch them, guard them and offer what assistance is necessary.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Kolb closed out of the channel and Griffin switched to the bridge comms for the Hurricane. “Transports incoming,” he said. “We’re going to pull Admiral Stone and everyone else out of there. Questions?”

  “How long do we have before the Raggers realize what we’re doing?” asked Dominguez.

  “I don’t know. I think Admiral Kolb was close to ordering a withdrawal before we gave her the news.”

  “That doesn’t sound too good.”

  “It’s not. Lieutenant Dominguez, what’s the ETA on those transports? We’ve got to escort them to the surface.”

  “Six minutes on their current vector, sir. The Gradior is already turning to meet them.”

  “Let’s get going.” Griffin made a quick check of the transports’ approach path to orient himself and then he banked the Hurricane on an intercept course. A burst of acceleration carried the heavy cruiser through the layer of smoke and into the upper reaches of the atmosphere.

  From altitude, the scene below appeared just as bizarre as it did from low level. The force of multiple nuclear blasts had burned countless almost perfectly circular holes in the smoke. Mushroom clouds in varying stages of formation or decay protruded through the holes, while the ground below glowed in oranges and reds. In the short moments Griffin allowed himself to watch, another nuke went off way to the south, producing a flash of light before the resulting cloud began its steady billowing upwards.

  “Like a magic forest that isn’t so magical,” said Shelton.

  “Yeah.”

  Griffin couldn’t figure out his emotions and he didn’t bother trying. He kept pace with the Gradior and the two warships raced for the incoming transports.

  “New orders came out on the AF2 channel, sir,” said Kenyon. “The remaining ships are to keep the Raggers occupied on the far side of the planet from our current position.”

  “Remaining ships?” asked Kroll. “How many have we lost?”

  “Nearly half,” said Kenyon.

  The losses came as a shock to Griffin and he wondered if AF2 would escape from Qali-5 with more than a handful of ships once the rescue was over. “This is going to turn the screw on the rescue teams. And they haven’t even deployed yet.”

/>   Everyone knew it and nobody tried to sugar coat what was coming.

  The transports didn’t deviate from their course and Dominguez tracked them easily.

  “Looks like Admiral Kolb thought they required a bit more protection than the Hurricane and the Gradior,” she said. “We’ve got two additional Fangrin ships in close proximity.”

  “What class?”

  “Heavies.” Dominguez got a sensor lock and Griffin saw that the two additional escorts were identical to the Gradior.

  “The more the merrier.”

  “They can’t stay,” said Kenyon. “Their orders are to return to the Trojan as soon as the transports land.”

  “Shame.”

  Griffin brought the Hurricane around in the tightest of turns and placed the spaceship on one flank, close enough that details of the troop carriers were easily visible on his HUD. The transports were mid-sized, angular and with warship-grade armor plating. Griffin was familiar with the type and was aware the vessels were fitted with immense propulsion systems, designed to facilitate rapid deployment and even faster extractions.

  “Two of the ULAF’s finest personnel carriers,” said Shelton. “Three hundred men, women and aliens on each.”

  The transport pilots knew the ropes and they pushed hard enough that heat smoke trailed from their burning nose sections. The Gradior fell in on the opposite flank and the six vessels sped towards the smoke layer. At that moment, Griffin realized he didn’t have any idea what they were heading into. Lieutenant Kenyon had picked up the signal from Fleet Admiral Stone, but they hadn’t done anything more than a long-distance scan of the area.

  “I want every hostile target identified as quickly as possible,” said Griffin. “Recommend to the Gradior that we move ahead of the transports.”

  With that, he increased the Hurricane’s speed and crossed directly in front of the closest transport, with three hundred meters separating the spaceships. It was as close as he dared given the speeds involved and the visibility, and it wouldn’t be enough to cut out a well-guided attack from the ground.

  The spaceships entered the smoke layer at high velocity and the pilot of one transport cracked a few nervous jokes on the comms.