Enemy in the Dark (23 page)

Nortel stared back wordlessly for a few seconds. He knew Marshal Lucerne's Far Stars Confederation was intended to balance out the power of the empire, but throughout his life, imperial strength and brutality had always been somewhat of a
theoretical fear, one consisting more of old stories and less of actual guns stacked up in the holds of ships.

“Are you sure, sir? I could tell the weapons were highly advanced, but imperial?”

“So I've been told, Captain. By no less than General DeMark, whose men have been facing enemy soldiers armed with this type of ordnance.” Jardaines sat quietly for a few seconds. “Captain, I am going to get right to the point. General DeMark has ordered your ship interned, cut off from all communication with other fleet units.” Jardaines could see the confused look on Nortel's face turning quickly toward defensiveness.

“Sir, I can assure you that my entire crew . . .”

“You needn't continue, Captain. General DeMark asked me to meet with you specifically to address the reasons for his decision, though I would have done so on my own, even if he hadn't.” He gave Nortel a weak smile. “Captain, your crew behaved with exemplary conduct and efficiency and, indeed, I have put you and your people up for a commendation.” He sighed. “However, for reasons I cannot disclose—indeed, to which I myself am not entirely privy—secrecy regarding the contents of the freighters you captured has been deemed of vital importance. Therefore, your ship will proceed immediately to Celtiboria, with the interned freighter crews accompanying you in the transport
Olsyndra
. You will maintain complete communications silence until you arrive home, at which time you will follow the directions provided by fleet command.”

“Understood, sir.” Nortel was still confused, but he knew how to obey orders. He sat for a few moments, as the door slid open and the steward brought in the water, setting a glass in
front of him. He cued off Jardaines and stayed silent until the attendant had walked back through the door.

“Commodore?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Does this mean the marshal was right all along? That the empire is planning a move against the Far Stars?”

Jardaines let out a long sigh. “I don't know, Jeran, I just don't know.” A short pause. “But I'm not willing to bet against Marshal Lucerne being right. Are you?”

BLACKHAWK HAD PULLED OUT HIS SWORD AND WAS MOVING
down the corridor even as his shout continued to echo in the king's small cell. The Twins were right behind him, with King Gustav bringing up the rear. There was a wild gun battle raging in the hall running perpendicular to his position. The fire was much heavier from the left, where he knew his people were advancing. The surviving enemy guards were to the right, and the volume of their shooting was rapidly falling off.

“Shira, hold your fire,” he shouted.
It's time to finish this.
And to do what he had planned, he needed a live prisoner.

“Got it, Ark.” Her response was clipped. Clearly, she knew what Blackhawk had in mind, and she didn't like it.

He whipped around the corner, bending his knees and sinking
low to the ground as he did. He could hear the enemy shots ripping by, but they went high, over his head. His eyes quickly scanned the remaining enemy fighters. There were three guards, each with assault rifles in their hands, and a fourth man standing behind, with no apparent weapon. He guessed that was the commander, and he decided to take him alive if possible.

He felt the battle trance taking him, and the strange sensation of time slowing was upon him again. It was as if his enemies moved in slow motion. His pistol recoiled hard as he fired, taking the first guard in the head. The man began to fall, but Blackhawk's attention had already shifted to the second target.

His arm moved, almost involuntarily, whipping his weapon around. The soldier was moving himself, bringing his rifle to bear on Blackhawk, but he was already too late. The deadly pistol fired again. And again. The guard fell back, his chest blown almost to shreds by the heavy rounds.

Two down.

Blackhawk's eyes were on the third guard. He brought his pistol around . . . but now
he
was too late. His enemy's rifle was almost on him. He knew he was finished, that any instant the soldier's weapon would spit out his death.

Then he heard the sound, the loud cracks of two heavy autocannons firing, the massive bullets tearing past him, taking his would-be killer in the neck and chest. The heavy projectiles tore through flesh and bone, and they almost decapitated the guard. He crumpled to the ground in a spray of blood, dropping the weapon that had come so close to ending Blackhawk's long and bizarre career.

He didn't dwell on it. Instead, his eyes snapped back toward the last of the enemy, and he lurched up to his feet, lunging for
ward. The man was turning hard, trying to flee toward the door behind him, but he froze suddenly and stared at Blackhawk.

“You!” he said, his tone a combination of surprise and fear.

Blackhawk stumbled to a halt. The hazy image in his mind crystallized, and he recognized the man almost immediately, though it had been over twenty years since he'd last seen him. He felt his stomach clench, and suddenly his mind was fighting back a wave of memories, recollections he'd fought for two decades to forget.

“Shira!” he shouted. “Get everybody out of here. NOW!”

“Captain . . . ?

“Get outside, and call Lucas to bring down the
Claw,
and get the king to General DeMark. Don't wait for me. I'll get back myself.”

Shira was staring down the hallway, a startled expression on her face. “And leave you behind? Ark, we can't . . .”

“Not now, Shira! Just follow my orders!” He never addressed any of his crew so harshly, but he had no time to explain now.

Shira hesitated, but then she turned to the others. “You heard the captain. Let's move.” It was clear she wasn't happy with the course of action.

I can't care what you feel about the order, Shira. Just follow it.

Blackhawk turned back to the mysterious figure, but suddenly, the corridor was filled with a thick gray cloud.

Fuck
—
smoke grenade!
The billowing black cloud spread throughout the hallway. Blackhawk couldn't see more than a few centimeters, but he could feel the movement of the air, and he knew the man had run.

“Get back to the
Claw,
all of you!” Blackhawk screamed once more to his stunned crew, and then he was gone, chasing the mysterious enemy down the corridor.

“DeMark's people are in the city. It looks like the Nordlingener lines are breaking.” Lucas was staring into his scope. Between the thrusters and the field, he had little of the
Claw'
s tremendous power available for other uses, but he committed some of the small surplus to running the scanner suite on low power.

Operating in a planet's low atmosphere created a number of challenges—the thrust requirement to offset gravity, the friction from flying in the air, the precision of flying so close to the ground—but there were a few benefits, too. It took a lot less power to scan targets a few kilometers away than it did to track enemy ships in the vast distances of space.

Ace was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. He felt like shit, and he was so light-headed, he felt like he'd fall out of his chair any minute. But he wasn't about to admit that to Lucas—or anyone else. If he couldn't be down in the palace with the others, this was where he belonged. And it was where he was going to stay until everyone was safely back aboard.

“I'm not surprised. I wouldn't call the Nordlingeners wogs, not exactly. But they were never going to beat Lucerne's veterans, no matter what kind of weapons they had.”

Lucas nodded. “No, I don't . . .”

He was interrupted by Shira's voice blasting through the comm. “Lucas, we're coming out of the palace now, southeast corner. We've picked up more enemy. They're behind us, and it looks like we've got some outside waiting for us too.”

Ace shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
It
'
s time,
he thought, exerting all his mental energy to focus his foggy mind. He reached into his pocket and grabbed one of the stims he'd stashed there, popping it into his mouth as he activated the needle gun controls. The effect was almost immediate, like a rush of adrenaline. He felt the fatigue pushed back and a new
alertness take hold. He knew it wouldn't last long, but hopefully he would only need it for a few minutes.

“We're on the way, Shira. ETA one minute thirty,” Lucas said. “Stay alert. Ace is on the needle gun. We'll try to give your reception party something else to think about.”

“Acknowledged.” Shira cut the line.

“We're heading down, Ace. Make sure you're strapped in.”

“I heard you.”

The
Claw
pitched almost immediately, as Lucas put her into a steep dive. Seconds counted, and there was no time for a gentle descent.

Ace brought up the needle gun's targeting system. It was simpler than the neural feed units in the two main turrets. Those targeting systems were state of the art, and they provided a unique perspective to the gunner. The smaller needle weapon was fired from Ace's station on the bridge, and it was much lower tech. Then again, his targets here would be meters away, not half a light-second.

“Drop the field, Lucas. I need to charge the gun.” With the thrusters and field running, there was no way the
Claw
could power any of its weapons systems, even with its new reactors and conduits.

“Sam,” Lucas yelled into the comm. “Dropping the field in ten seconds, activating the needle gun.”

“Acknowledged,” came the reply. “Diverting power immediately to the needle gun firing system.”

Ace sat and listened, but he didn't say anything. Lucas and Sam worked seamlessly as a team, each in their own way coaxing a level of performance out of the
Claw
that astounded everyone else. He knew intellectually
Wolf
'
s Claw
was an inanimate object, though he'd never managed to think of it quite
that way. His connection to the old girl had always been a deep one. But that was nothing compared to Sam and Lucas. For them, the
Claw
was an extension of their minds, their bodies. When the ship went into battle, the two of them almost merged with the vessel, becoming an integral part of it. He wished he could understand how they meshed so perfectly with a machine, but while he was a little jealous, he wasn't going to begrudge them in the slightest. Their connection had surely saved the entire crew more than once.

He felt the same rush he always did when the
Claw
went into a fight. But he couldn't help but feel something was missing. He turned around for a second, and his eyes stopped on the command chair. The
Claw
felt empty with most of her crew on the ground. And most of all, she was without her captain, the beating heart of her crew.

Ace realized that put him in command, informally at least. Even Shira tended to accept his role as de facto executive officer, but now all he wanted to do was get Blackhawk back into the command chair as quickly as possible.

“The field is down.” It was Sam's voice on the comm. “Ace, you'll have power to the needle gun in eight seconds.”

“Got it, Sam.” Ace turned and looked across the bridge. “We're detectable, Lucas. Keep an eye on your scope.”

“You mean, do my job?”

“Smart-ass.”

“Just filling in for you while you're taking on the responsibility of command. All clear so far.” A pause. “Better get your targeting online. I've got a cluster of troops out behind the palace. I think we're gonna need to clear a path for the others.”

“You think?” Ace growled, and he could hear Lucas laugh. That was all the encouragement Ace needed—he was back in
his element. As good-natured as Ace was around his comrades, there was a bloodthirsty side to him. Blackhawk, Katarina, and Shira shared it, and they understood. The others were fighters through and through, but they didn't understand the primal rush from the kill the way their more aggressive comrades did. Ace only fought against those seeking to harm his friends, and against them he had not the slightest shred of mercy.

He stared into the targeting scope. He counted at least thirty-five troops running around. They were taking position, most likely waiting for Shira and the others. They were there to kill his friends.
That
'
s not going to happen, motherfuckers.

“I've got them,” he said to Lucas.

He smiled and pulled the trigger.

“Let's go. Whatever's outside, we're out of time in here.” Shira was standing just beyond the door, waving her arms wildly to the others.

Sarge and his men were in the lead. They filed out the door and fanned out, taking position along a narrow berm. They opened up almost immediately, and Shira could hear the return fire—and was not encouraged by what she heard. There were at least several squads shooting.

“Anybody who still has ammo, get in position flanking Sarge's men.” She was doing a mental tally, and it kept coming up the same: nobody but Sarge's crew had squat ammo left. The Twins were completely out.
Too damned bad. Those heavy cannons are just what we need right now.
She was also dry. She'd fired her last rounds as they'd fought their way down the final corridor on the way to the exit. Her heavy knife was in her hand, its blade bright with blood.

She was pretty sure Katarina was out as well, though she'd
learned never to discount the wily assassin. She was likely to pull a gun from some unimagined hiding place and drop an enemy in his tracks when you least expected it. Whatever she might be hiding, though, she had no place on a firing line now. If it got to close quarters, that was something entirely different . . .

Shira turned toward Gustav, who was moving toward the left of the line. He still had Blackhawk's rifle and half a magazine. “You . . . get down. Ark wants you out of here alive, so we're going to try to keep you that way.” She wasn't about to call this jumped-up Nordlingener king or your highness or any other bullshit like that. Shira didn't grant courtesy respect. If you wanted it from her, you damned well had to prove you deserved it first.

She looked up, trying to get a glimpse of the
Claw
. She couldn't see anything, but then she heard a dull roar in the distance.
There she is!
She'd know those engines anywhere.

“Grab some dirt,” Lucas said over the comm. “We're on the way down.”

Shira knew exactly what that meant. She could almost see Ace at the needle gun controls, lining up those guards in his sights. She'd never say it to his face, but she was glad Ace Graythorn was up in the
Claw,
ready to waste the bastards out in that field.

She'd barely crouched down when a blinding flash lit the sky, and a blast like a bolt of lightning ripped into the ground. It was a perfect shot, right in the middle of the largest enemy formation. It fried at least half a dozen soldiers, and the rest of the unit broke and fled in every direction.

“Stay down,” Shira growled when she saw Gustav look up. She was counting in her head. She knew exactly how long it took the
Claw
's needle gun to recharge. She gave one last peek
before ducking down as the second shot ripped into another cluster of guards.

“You ready, Shira?” It was Lucas again. “They're all running. I'm bringing her down.”

“We're ready, Lucas. Way past ready.” She turned toward the others. “The
Claw
is landing. Wait until she's completely down, and on my signal, we all make a run for it. Understood?”

She was answered with an assortment of yeses and nods.

She turned and watched for about half a minute, and then she could see a glow on the ground from the
Claw'
s landing thrusters. It was a slow and delicate process to bring a vessel the size of the
Claw
down—unless you had a pilot like Lucas Lancaster at the controls. Shira watched as he brought the ship toward the ground in one perfect, graceful motion. Thirty seconds later
Wolf
'
s Claw
was on the ground, and Shira and the others were heading her way at a dead run.