Citadel

by Marko Kloos

  “We’re not dead yet,” Decker said. “That’s a plus.”

  “About fucking time they got here,” Maya said. “Took them long enough.”

  Sleipnir was burning her drive at one g now, accelerating away from her companions, her active sensors flooding the space in front of her with megawatts of radiation in search of a target for her rail guns and missiles. Aden watched the cruiser’s progress on the plot, profoundly glad they were moving away from Zephyr and focusing their attention somewhere else.

  “They think the Rhodies are bluffing,” Aden said.

  “Wouldn’t you?” Decker asked.

  “I would,” Maya said. “You don’t turn off your guns just because someone says so. Not until you know they can kick your ass in a fight.”

  “That Rhody commander is either the gods-damned system champion at bluffing, or his ship really is that good,” Decker said. She was trying to sound nonchalant, but Aden could hear the relief in her voice, and he realized that all of them had mentally prepared themselves for their imminent deaths just a few minutes ago.

  The acceleration number next to the Gretian cruiser rapidly decreased, then showed a zero with a question mark next to it, and the AI uncertainty bubble started to expand around the icon again immediately.

  “They killed their drive,” Decker said. She switched control screens and scrolled through a few panels, then flicked another screen over to the main display. It showed a visual of the Gretian cruiser. Zephyr was just a few thousand kilometers away right now, looking at the Gretian warship from a stern angle, and the screen came on just in time to show the fusion drive plume at the stern of Sleipnir extinguish. Then the rail-gun mounts on the hull swiveled around slowly until they faced roughly astern. Aden felt a brief swell of panic until he realized they weren’t aiming at Zephyr, but at some point well behind and below them.

  “What the hells is he doing?” Maya asked.

  They watched as one of the mounts fired a single round. A moment later, one of the rail-gun turrets on the other side of the ship fired a round as well, then another. Decker took control of the optical sensor array and swiveled the viewpoint to track the direction of the slugs the Gretian cruiser had just launched.

  “They’re fucking shooting at their own ships,” Decker said.

  In the center of the sensor screen, the patchwork freighter they knew as Iron Pig was floating seemingly motionless in space. As they watched, the rail-gun slug from Sleipnir streaked into the picture and blew into the stern section of Iron Pig, tearing through the hull plating and blowing off huge chunks of alloy and laminate. Almost instantly, Iron Pig began trailing frozen gas and debris from its stern. Decker switched the array’s focus to the unknown fuel hauler that was the target of Sleipnir’s second shot, only to see an expanding ball of fire and debris where the ship had been floating in space just a few moments ago. If the gunner in control of Sleipnir’s rail battery had meant to disable the propulsion section just like they had on Iron Pig, it looked like their aim had been off just enough to hit one of the fuel storage segments of the hull instead. The passive array flipped to the location of the fourth ship, the freighter of unknown make or name. In this instance, the aim had been true if the shot was intended for the propulsion unit. The stern of the freighter was in tatters, its drive cone messily amputated by the impact of the tungsten slug.

  One by one, three automated emergency beacons popped up on Zephyr’s navigation screen.

  Maya barked a laugh.

  “Did that just happen?”

  “They just blew up one of their own fleet and crippled two more,” Decker said after a moment. “If that’s what you mean.”

  “Just like that.”

  “I don’t think it was just like that,” Aden said.

  The emergency channel came to life again with the same Gretian-accented voice.

  “Belligerent ship Sleipnir, or Valravn, or whatever the hells your name is these days. You are probably aware by now that we are in full control of your ship’s systems. Your life support will go offline in three minutes. We will vent all your available oxygen into space. You are advised to order your crew to the rescue pods and abandon ship. Ignore this warning at your peril. We will be more than happy to take inventory of your corpses if you do. Odin’s Ravens end today. Remember Norfolk-9.”

  When the transmission ended, there were a few heartbeats of silence on the maneuvering deck. Then Maya let out a throaty chuckle.

  “Gods-damn. That was cold. Remind me to never cross those Rhody bastards.”

  For the next minute and a half, nothing happened. Then an automated emergency beacon popped up next to Sleipnir’s icon on the plot. Another followed, then a third and a fourth. A few minutes later, several dozen beacons were blaring their distress calls in the space around the Gretian heavy gun cruiser. Aden felt a laugh coming on, and even though it didn’t feel proper and appropriate in these circumstances, he let it out. Maya joined in from above, with a merry and bright laugh he had never heard out of her before. Decker merely shook her head with a grin.

  “The luck of drunks and fools,” she said.

  In the rear of the maneuvering deck, Tess’s head popped up above the rim of the ladderway hatch.

  “You’re fucking laughing. Will someone tell me what the hells just happened?”

  “Don’t ask how, but we won,” Decker replied. “That is, the Rhodies won. Without firing a single gods-damned shot of their own.”

  CHAPTER 22

  IDINA

  The garage smelled like the inside of a busy shooting range. Idina lowered her rifle and looked around, but there was no more movement except for that of her own troopers, clearly marked in blue outlines on her helmet’s display. She walked over to the assailant she had just dropped with a three-round burst to the back from twenty meters away. He had fallen to the ground and rolled over faceup, and now was lying motionless next to his rifle. As she stepped close, Idina raised her weapon again and fired another burst into the middle of his chest, just for insurance. Then she kicked the rifle out of his reach.

  “Clear,” Corporal Shakya said on the section comms. “Two down over here. Two more bodies by the door.”

  “Secure that doorway,” Idina said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We have some wounded over here,” she heard Dahl yelling. Idina looked over to the Gretian woman and saw that she was kneeling behind one of the shot-up patrol pods. She walked over to the pod. Dahl was bent over a young woman in civilian clothes who looked like she was in rough shape. They were exchanging words, and when the young woman tried to answer Dahl, she coughed up blood. Next to her, another civilian was faceup on the ground, motionless.

  Over by the exit, an alarm Klaxon blared, and the security gate started to open.

  “Cover that exit,” she ordered. Two of her Red Section troopers took up cover behind patrol pods and aimed their weapons at the expanding crack of daylight underneath the opening gate.

  “The QRF bird is overhead,” Corporal Shakya said. “They’re putting a whole platoon on the ground right now.”

  “QRF Leader, this is Colors Chaudhary,” Idina sent on the tactical network. “Do you read?”

  “We got you on tactical, Colors. Go ahead,” the QRF commander responded tersely.

  “I’m in the pod garage on the sublevel with what’s left of my JSP section. We have engaged and neutralized multiple hostiles, but there may be more in the building. Be advised they’re wearing battle armor and carrying infantry weapons.”

  “I need some extra hands over here,” Dahl shouted over her shoulder in front of Idina. She moved next to her partner and saw that she was trying to pull the wounded female civilian away from the motionless man. Together, they picked her up and moved her out from between the pods. Dahl gently rolled the woman onto her side to evaluate the extent of her injuries. There was a bullet hole in her back, a hand’s breadth underneath the right shoulder blade. It was oozing bright-red blood.

  “Pu
lmonary hemorrhage,” Dahl said. She pulled a medpack from her belt and flipped the pouch open with a quick and practiced motion. Then she placed the gel sealant over the wound and spread it out to seal it.

  “I need more,” Dahl said. “For this one and him over there.”

  Idina took her own medpack out and handed it to Dahl.

  “Shakya, come here and give me your medpack,” she ordered. The corporal rushed over and complied, and she passed his pack on to Dahl as well.

  “These people need to get to a medical center—and fast,” Dahl said.

  “QRF Lead, we have a lot of civilian casualties down here,” Idina sent on the tactical channel. “We need medical personnel and evac units right now.”

  “They’re sending everything they have,” the QRF commander replied. “But we have to clear the building first before we let them run in there. Sit tight and wait until we get to you. QRF out.”

  “Fuck all the gods,” Idina said.

  “I can’t hear any more shooting upstairs,” Shakya said from his nearby covering position. “Maybe we got them all.”

  She did the math in her head.

  “They had a four-man team upstairs in the atrium. How many do we have down here?”

  “These two we just drilled. One more inside the door. That’s three.”

  “Makes seven. Maybe one got killed by one of the Gretians upstairs. Two fire teams, two entrances?”

  “If there’s a third team, they’re laying low. But that wouldn’t make sense. They were going to sweep through. Kill everyone left standing. Get the hells out before backup arrives.”

  She walked over to one of the dead attackers and prodded him with her boot. The armor he was wearing looked vaguely familiar. It was clearly Gretian, but she had never seen this specific pattern before, flat black, with an octagonal pattern laser-etched on the plating. It looked like it was somewhere between scout and light-assault armor in thickness and weight. Everything about it shouted “commando gear” to Idina.

  Over by the door to the stairwell, another civilian lay dead. This one was a fit-looking man in a business outfit. There was a holster on his belt with a sidearm in it. One of the attackers’ rifles was on the ground near the dead man’s body. Inside the stairwell door, a body in commando armor blocked most of the staircase. Idina picked up the rifle and checked it to see that the ammunition feed was empty.

  “Looks like he got one before they got him,” Shakya said next to her.

  “That wasn’t really a fight he could win. They had armor and he didn’t. And they outnumbered him. But he sold himself well.”

  “Went out like a soldier,” Shakya agreed.

  She went back to Dahl, who had finished applying the medical packs to the two injured civilians. The woman was unconscious now, and Dahl had placed her on her side in the textbook first aid position to keep her from aspirating her own blood. Dahl looked up at Idina.

  “If she does not get to a trauma pod in the next few minutes, she will die. There is only so much I can do with these medpacks.”

  “They won’t send in medical teams until the building is safe,” Idina said.

  “Then we have to get her out.” Dahl pointed at one of the patrol pods nearby. “Those extended units have collapsible stretchers in the back with the emergency equipment.”

  “Pop one of those things open and get us a stretcher,” Idina ordered the nearest trooper. He dashed over to the row of pods Dahl had indicated and opened the back hatch. A few moments later, he returned with a long bundle wrapped in orange fabric. He handed it to Dahl, who opened it and extended the stretcher with swift and sure movements. Together, they carefully lifted the unconscious woman onto the stretcher, and Dahl inflated the restraints that would keep her on her side and breathing properly.

  “Out that way,” Dahl said and nodded at the garage exit. “I will take the front. You take the back.”

  “Let me go in the lead,” Idina said. “If there are QRF guns aimed at that gate, I want them to see JSP armor first.”

  Dahl nodded and swapped places with her.

  “Shakya, watch our backs and bring up the rear,” Idina ordered. “And keep an eye on that doorway back there.”

  She switched to the guard comms and slung her rifle across her back.

  “QRF units, we are coming out of the garage gate on the lower level with a medical emergency. Five troopers, one Gretian JSP officer. If there’s a trauma pod on scene already, have them meet us outside.”

  She grabbed the handles on her end of the stretcher and looked back at Dahl.

  “Ready? On three. One—two—three.”

  They lifted the stretcher in one smooth movement. With the adrenaline that was coursing through Idina’s veins and her Palladian physique, the woman they were picking up seemed to weigh next to nothing. When they started toward the gate, Idina’s troopers formed up beside and behind them in a protective phalanx. They covered the fifty meters to the exit ramp in a quick trot that was as fast as Idina dared to go with the stretcher between her and Dahl.

  Outside, the sky was swarming with gyrofoils and drones. At the top of the vehicle ramp beyond the exit, an entire section of QRF troopers had taken up covering positions, and Idina’s stomach clenched momentarily when she saw eight rifle muzzles aiming in her general direction. An Alliance combat gyrofoil was hovering nearby, its gun pods fixed on the garage exit. If someone decided that her section’s appearance was a ruse, her team and Dahl would die a quick and violent death.

  “Don’t anybody aim at anything,” she told her team over the section comms.

  One of the QRF troopers at the top of the ramp lowered his rifle and waved them on.

  “Keep going,” he shouted. “Clear the ramp.”

  They made their way up the ramp, careful to keep the stretcher level. The QRF section moved to let them pass through their firing line. Idina recognized the section leader, a sergeant from the JSP’s Rhodian company.

  “There’s a trauma pod around that corner, twenty meters from the intersection,” he said and indicated the direction. “Any of yours left inside?”

  Idina shook her head. “Three of mine are dead. The DHC and his security team are gone, too. They were on the top floor. We were the only Alliance in there when it went up.”

  “Go,” the Rhodian sergeant said. “Pod’s waiting. We’re going in to mop up.”

  Idina nodded. “Watch yourself. No telling how many civvies are left in there. This is all a big fucking mess.”

  “Isn’t it always.”

  They rushed on with the stretcher. Behind them, the QRF section grouped up in fire teams and moved down the ramp into the garage, weapons at the ready. The police headquarters was all but gone from the fifth floor up, and black smoke was pouring out of the ruin, roiling into the blue midday sky. Overhead, the assault gyrofoil tilted its engine nacelles slightly to move sideways a few meters, kicking up dust and debris with the downdraft from its powerful rotors.

  The trauma pod’s medical crew met them as soon as they were around the next corner. The medics started working on the young woman on the stretcher before they even had her all the way to the pod. When they reached it, the medics took over the stretcher for the transfer.

  Dahl shook her head.

  “No injections, just two biogel medpacks. I think she got shot through a lung. She coughed up bright-red froth when I got to her.”

  “Understood. We will take it from here.”

  The medics loaded the stretcher into the trauma pod and climbed in behind it. The young civilian woman looked small and pale, and Idina wondered whether they had gotten her out here in time. She had seen strong young Palladians die on the battlefield in moments from injuries like that. But if she had learned anything about human bodies, it was that they could be frighteningly fragile and at the same time very hard to kill, and there was no way for her to know which way the life of the young woman on the stretcher would swing. They had done what they could, and now it was in the hands of the me
dics.

  “What about the other one?” Idina asked Dahl. “The one that was next to her.”

  Dahl shrugged.

  “I patched him up as well. But he was not conscious or moving. I do not think he will make it. This one was still teetering on the edge.”

  “What do we do now, Colors?” Corporal Shakya asked.

  “We go back in there,” Idina replied. “We’re going to look for the others. Check your weapons and make sure you are topped off. We’re going around to the front and going in from the atrium entrance.”

  “I will come with you,” Dahl announced.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Idina said. “If there are any of those Odin’s Wolves fuckers left alive in there, you can’t do much more than scratch their armor with that pistol of yours.”

  “This is my home,” Dahl replied. “These are my colleagues. My friends. I can no more stay away than you. If you wish to keep me out of that building, you will have to restrain me.”

  Idina shook her head.

  “I have no desire to do that, Captain Dahl. None whatsoever.”

  Dahl nodded and checked her own weapon, then ejected the ammunition block and pulled a new one from her belt pouch.

  “But if you’re coming in there with us again, my troopers are taking the lead,” Idina continued. “And that’s not optional.”

  Dahl snapped the fresh ammunition block into her weapon and charged the gun.

  “Take the lead, then. But be quick about it.”

  On the atrium level, every body in sight was on the ground and motionless, dead or grievously wounded. They moved through the atrium, sidestepping chunks of burning and smoking debris as they went. Above them, the remnants of the upper floors were a roiling inferno of fire and smoke, fanned by the air coming in through the huge hole the bomb had blown out of the side of the building.