Gateway (Gateway Series Book 1) (14 page)

***

“Sounds like they are coming to get us,” reported Martin. “They’re in orbit and waiting for reinforcements to try it again.”

Stone did not care about the follow-up operations. His thoughts were filled with the decimation of his regiment and his hatred for Cataline. “I will not serve under General Tacitus,” said Stone matter-of-factly to Martin.

“Sir?” she asked.

It was out of character for him to speak ill of a superior, even General Tacitus, in front of junior officers but the night had taken its toll on his formality. Stone could tell Martin had not expected his comment and saw that she wasn’t sure how to respond. “He has cost so many lives,” continued Stone. “Over 800 men died bravely when we should have waited for reinforcements in the first place.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “You have served well, Emily, and I will mention that in my report. After this, it might be smart to distance yourself from me. I have openly disrespected a superior officer from a First Family and will not rescind my comments. He will not face me in single combat so he will see that I am relegated to some menial task far from a combat command.”

“All of that political crap means nothing, Sir,” answered Martin. “We are warriors and we play the hand we’re dealt. You are my commander and I will follow you…even that means handing out towels at the Humani gymnasium.”

“I know you would, Emily. You would hate it, but you would  do it.”

“You’re right,” interrupted Martin with a small smile. “I would hate it.”

“Emily, I appreciate the—”

“What are those flashes?” interrupted Jackson as he pointed toward the sky.

Stone looked upward into the early morning sky. In the red hue, bright flashes could be seen. It was not the main batteries of an orbital destroyer this time. It was something different…something was not right.

***

“
Pantelus Varuk
, this is
Intrepid
,” broke through the communications link onboard
Pantelus Varuk
.

“
Pantelus Varuk
, this is
Intrepid
, several large magnetic concentrations marked. Corresponding increased neutrino levels in…twenty-five locations.”

“Is it our fleet?” asked Cataline to Admiral Sequentius.

“There’s no way,” responded Sequentius. “They have to be Terillian ships…Captain, inform Admiral Claudius on the
Gaes Prime
, place all ships at battle stations. Scramble all condor fighters.”

“Admiral,
Intrepid
reports verification of large Terillian fleet including eight battleships and four carriers.
Intrepid
is currently engaged with several Foxtrot squadrons and two battleships,” reported the Communications Watch Officer.

“Son of a bitch!” exclaimed the admiral as he turned toward Cataline. “That has to be a grand fleet. They could be carrying close to 15,000 ground troops.”

“Even with the rest of the Corps we could be outnumbered,” replied a surprised Cataline.

“I am not worried about the planet. I only have six ships of the line against at least ten already. We need to prepare to jump and get out of here.”

“What do we do with Colonel Lucius?” asked Cataline, knowing what the answer would be.

“We do not have time to extract his survivors,” replied the admiral as he looked up from a status screen. The green hue of the screen illuminated a calm but determined look.

“He was a brave warrior and shall be honored in the Forum as a hero,” replied Cataline, relieved that Stone would not be around to challenge his handling of the operation or his bravery.

“I am sure you will sing his praises,” replied Sequentius sarcastically.

“Admiral,
Intrepid
had sustained several hits. Captain Ventu reports that he is down to half power and does not have jump capability.”

“Admiral!” shouted the now excited watch officer. “Admiral!”

“Report!” ordered Sequentius, himself fighting to maintain his composure.

“Admiral, fifteen Terillian capital ships reported,” reported the watch officer.

“I guess we both lose units to this damnable planet, General,” commented Sequentius as he turned toward the ship’s captain. “Pass jump coordinates to all ships. Recall all condors that can make it in time. Standby to execute jump in two minutes.”

***

General Nero, standing in the farmhouse where Stone had held his war conference the day before, turned toward General Fallingrock.

“They’re putting up one hell of fight, General Nero,” said Fallingrock. “They are making us pay dearly for every centimeter of ground we gain.”

“The fleet has returned,” interrupted a Terillian communications officer.

“They will have additional forces and the Xen will either have to retreat or be destroyed,” stated Fallingrock.

“We should call in for an orbital bombardment to finish off their last unit,” recommended a staff officer standing next to Fallingrock.

“No, General,” replied Nero. “They have fought bravely and taken the lives of thousands of my men.”

Nero’s Humani sense of honor was still intact, even if he was a traitor. “We shall take them by assault and offer them as honorable a death as possible. Send one of your reserve regiments supported by a Scout Ranger company.”

“But we could limit our own casualties…”

“No, General,” interrupted Nero. “We…I owe them the honor of facing their end standing and facing their foe, not vaporized by plasma. I will send my own men forward, just allow me the use of the Scout Rangers.”

“So be it,” replied the frustrated Fallingrock.

***

On the hilltop, the remnants of Stone’s command were making final preparations for withdrawal.

“What is taking them so long?” asked Jackson, rewrapping his wound. “We should have seen some transports by now.”

Stone was still mesmerized by the flashes in the sky. He turned toward Martin. “Contact
Pantelus Varuk
and find out what’s going on.”

“Sir, the Terillians are coming again,” shouted Jackson, readying his rifle.

Stone quickly grabbed his weapon and looked back toward Martin to get her report. Unless the evacuation forces arrived soon, they would have to make another stand.

Martin dropped the comms link and slowly drew her sword.

“What did they say, Captain?”

No answer.

“Captain…Emily?”

“They’re gone,” she said dryly, staring past Stone at the oncoming wave of enemy soldiers. “A large Terillian fleet has appeared.
Intrepid
is disabled and will soon be lost. The rest of the fleet has already jumped. They have left us here alone.”

Stone suddenly realized the first flashes he saw were the massive bursts of light caused by electron interactions as the magnetic fields were formed by the enemy ships coming out of their jumps. The flashes that he saw now were those of the
Intrepid
in her death throes.

“Very well.” Stone paused for a second of contemplation. “This is it then,” he said as he looked over the remnants of his regiment.

“Yes, Sir,” replied Jackson and Martin in unison.

“I will return to my post, Sir,” said Martin, expressionless.

Stone saw Martin look toward Jackson. He saw their eyes meet. They both stood silently staring at one another for a second that seemed an eternity. Then Martin quickly turned and sprinted back toward the small group of men she now commanded.

It was not long until the enemy was upon them. The majority of survivors had run out of ammunition and those who had not shortly emptied their magazines in the initial rush.

The fighting was hand to hand, knife against knife, sword against sword.

In the deadly melee, Stone used his sword masterfully. He quickly moved through the chaotic mass, slicing and thrusting with his sword. A Scout Ranger jumped in front of him, sword drawn and ready. As the Ranger thrust his sword, Stone smoothly blocked his attack and with one stroke removed the man of his lower left leg.

As Stone rose another Terillian grabbed him from behind and drove a knife toward his heart. Grasping the man’s wrist before he could force the knife sank into his chest, Stone flung the enemy over his body, dislocating the attacker’s shoulder in the process.

Stone had placed his foot on the screaming man’s throat and was ready to plunge his sword into him when he heard Jackson’s voice over the chaos of the battlefield.

“Colonel! It’s Emily!”

He turned toward Martin’s location. Her position was all but lost but she refused to give any more ground.

As she pulled her sword from a dispatched foe, a Terillian round found its mark. Hit in the shoulder, she spun around and fell to her knees, her sword still in her hand.

“Emily!” shouted Jackson as he raced toward her with Stone not far behind.

Stone, running at a full sprint, watched as Martin thrust her sword upward from her knees into the closest Terillian. She rose but another round hit her stomach and she fell to the ground again.

“No!” shouted Jackson, wading through anyone who stood in his way.

Two more Terillians approached Martin as she lay on ground.

She quickly raised a rifle taken from a fallen enemy and fired point blank, killing them both. She tried to rise again but could not; she could only make it to her knees where she stayed with her sword in one hand, balancing her bloody and wavering torso.

Jackson was only a few meters away when Stone saw a round impact Jackson’s body, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Stone leveled his weapon and fired, toppling the enemy rifleman who had wounded Jackson as he rushed toward Jackson and Martin.

He was still too far away. All he could do was watch….

***

Jackson slowly rose to his feet and stumbled the final few steps to Martin, still resting on her sword.

He fell to his knees beside her.

“Emily,” he cried as he lowered his head toward hers. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time.”

He looked into her eyes. They held a far-off stare, struggling to maintain consciousness.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Jackson continued. “I tried to make it to you in time…I’m sorry…for everything. I always thought there would be time to prove to you that I was worthy. I just want you to know that I still love you.”

Martin slowly focused on Jackson’s face and a weak smile started to form.

She raised her head slightly as a small trail of blood trickled out of her mouth. Her eyes met his briefly then she glanced over Jackson’s shoulder. She tried to raise her sword but no longer had the strength. Jackson gasped for breath as a Terillian sword passed through his body.

***

Stone fired his last round but it was too late. The Terillian fell, but left his sword embedded in Jackson’s body.

Stone was a few meters from Martin and Jackson when he felt a sharp sting in his right leg and fell to the ground. He quickly regained his footing despite the searing pain in his leg and turned toward the enemy. More rounds went into his arm and shoulder, twisting his body around and again sending him to his knees again.

He looked toward Martin and Jackson. They were still together, unconscious, slouched over one another with their heads resting on each other’s shoulders.

Suddenly, an explosion between himself and the two lifted Stone off the ground and knocked him onto his back. From his prone position, he looked toward Martin and Jackson. They had disappeared in the blast.

Using his uninjured arm, he attempted to rise again to look for them. Almost immediately, he felt a crushing blow to his ribs. He rolled over, grasping for his knife.

As he looked up he saw a familiar pair of burning green eyes, then a rifle butt crashed into his forehead and darkness consumed him.

Chapter 9

The nightmares were continuous and always ended the same way. As Stone rushed toward Jackson and Martin, he could see the Terillian thrust his sword into Jackson’s back as he held Martin. He tried to raise his weapon in time, but no matter how many times the scene replayed in his head, he was always too slow. Then there were those green eyes again.

As the current nightmare passed, Stone struggled to open his eyes against the brightness of the light overhead. His whole body ached as he started to move.

Coming to his senses he realized he was lying in a bed. He tried to raise himself but the wrenching pain pulsating through his arm and shoulder stopped him and reminded him the dreams had been all too real.

“You are finally awake,” came a woman’s voice from nearby.

“Astra,” he replied, thinking for a moment he had been rescued from Juliet 3.

“I’m afraid not, Colonel,” responded the voice. “You have been in and out of consciousness for the two days while the genetic patches were repairing your injuries but it seems as though you’re well on your way to recovery.”

As his eyes adjusted to the room, he realized his bed was in the center of what appeared to be a prison cell. Looking toward the voice, he saw her. “You!” exclaimed Stone as he recognized the Terillian standing outside the clear cell door.

It was the woman from Sierra 7.

“It looks like you are now my prisoner,” she replied. “Captain Mori Skye at your service.”

“How many…what is the status of my regiment?” asked Stone as he worked out the cobwebs.

“Your regiment is destroyed, Colonel. We took five prisoners including yourself. The rest were killed in the final assault.”

Stone felt sick. He knew that few would survive but he had hoped more than four were left. Cataline and those fools at High Command had led his men to slaughter. “Where are they?”

“The other survivors are still on Juliet 3, being held for interrogation and transport to prisoner of war facilities.”

“Did any of my officers…”

“No. The other four were enlisted. I do want you to know, Colonel, that your regiment’s performance was honorable. I should not tell you this, but as your regiment inflicted over three thousand casualties in your defense of the Lunari fields. General Fallingrock has ordered that all of your dead be placed on a morgue barge and transported to Xen territory so that the appropriate honors and burial rites may be administered.”

“There’ll be no burial rites,” shot back an angry Stone. “Once we’re dead we pass into nothingness, as does our flesh. All that remains is legacy. Have the general send a report of our deeds and do whatever he wishes with the bodies.”

Mori cocked her head to one side. “I do not understand you Hanmani. We are so similar but you are so aggressive by nature…and there is your unwillingness to acknowledge that there is more to us than flesh and bones.”

Stone struggled against the pain from his injuries, the haziness of the neuro-meds, and the anger over the death of his men. And she was getting under his skin. “Captain, spiritual beliefs are for people who are afraid to face their mortality and the struggles of life,” said Stone. “We purged our society of the evils of religion after it nearly destroyed our civilization. When we have conquered your people, we will wash away your barbaric notions of spirituality as well.”

“Oh yes,” replied Mori. “I forget that you Hanmani have forgotten your ancestors and taken on the atheistic dogma of your Xen masters. It’s a shame.”

“You mean our allies,” retorted Stone. He could feel his rage growing. “And as for our aggression, your people have tried to cover up your warmongering with propaganda about our civilization for centuries. I have grown numb to your lies.”

“Lies!” she shouted. “You are a prisoner of the Terillian Confederation. You no longer have to spin your web of deceit. It sometimes amazes me that we come from common ancestors.”

“Never!” shouted Stone. “I have heard that same Ter propaganda before. Your kind used similar lies as one of the pretenses for the First Terillian War and you are doing it again!”

He rose from his bed, groaning against the pain pulsing down his leg.

Mori slammed her fist against the table next to Stone’s bed. “It’s you that are the liars!” She paused, regaining her composure. “That or you are simply fools.”

Stone lunged toward his captor but fell back onto his bed in agony, his shoulder and leg sending bolts of pain throughout his body.

“Your wounds are healing but you are a long way from being fully recovered, Colonel. Perhaps you should lie back down.”

“You should have killed me on the battlefield,” snapped Stone. Death was a far more attractive option than living out the life of a prisoner or even worse as an adopted family pet, which was rumored to be the case with some of the Terillian groups.

“Sorry, Colonel,” Mori replied. “A captured Colonel is much better than a dead one. Besides, I guess I owed you an unwelcome rescue from Sierra 7.”

“I thought it was you.”

“Yes, Colonel. I am a little intrigued about how you went from a major in the Elite Guard to a Colonel of the Line but I’m sure that will come out during your interrogation. I think we have chatted enough today. You should rest.” Mori turned away from Stone. “Sleep well, Colonel,” she added as she walked out of the cell.

Stone looked up toward the overhead and exhaled hard, fighting the searing pain pulsing through is body. Luckily, once he allowed himself to calm down, the meds quickly took effect and he soon drifted off to sleep again. As his eyes closed, he was running toward Jackson and Martin. Maybe this time he would be quick enough…

***

The sting of cold rain peppering her face brought Martin out of her semi-conscious stupor. Slowly regaining her senses, she noticed the tingling numbness of her extremities and burning of her face, which felt raw against the pelting rain. The darkness told her she had been unconscious for at least a day. Martin listened for signs that someone was nearby but all she could hear was the spatter and low rushing flow of the downpour as the drizzle gradually increased in volume and intensity.

Then the pain hit her.

Martin sucked in a deep, loud breath of agony as a wave of pain centered in her stomach rippled throughout her body. Attempting to sit up, the moan was replaced with a loud cry as an intense, sharp pain in her shoulder nearly caused her to lose consciousness again. Breathing heavily through the pain, she closed her eyes tightly then let out another long breath and turned her head toward her right shoulder.

Martin could see the hole in her uniform where the Terillian round had entered her body near where her arm met her shoulder. The smooth circular hole, soaked with blood, gave little indication to the actual damage underneath. “Shit,” she cursed as she began to comprehend where she was and what had happened.

Another wave of pain pulsated through her body and she let out a low, guttural moan as she closed her eyes again, unable to stop her muscles from spasming against the pain. Groaning against the throbbing in her right shoulder, Martin pushed her head and left shoulder off the ground to look at her stomach. She could feel the resistance of her left arm to the suction of the mud, which was slowly consuming her body as the rain continued to intensify.

She looked down the length of her body.

Steam from her open wound drifted upward from her abdomen and the blood that had pooled around her waist mixed with the muddy water.

The air left her lungs when she saw him.

At her feet lay what was left of Captain Hugh Jackson. Jackson’s body had absorbed most of the blast from the explosion that had blown them apart. Twisted, mangled, and distorted, Jackson’s wrecked body had shielded Martin from the full force of the blast. “No!” she groaned.

Jackson’s eyes were frozen in death, staring in Martin’s direction. His glare was empty and vacant; he was gone.

Unable to endure the pain of seeing Jackson’s body or the wound to her shoulder any longer, she let her left arm go limp and her head fell back to the ground. She could feel the splash of the water and the cold mud ooze around the back of her head. The depth of the water had increased so that the muddy fluid began to fill her ear canal.

Martin looked up at the night sky. She could feel the tears of anguish and loss run down her face contrast with the burning sensation caused by the near-freezing rain. Slowly closing her eyes, she contemplated her impending death. As Martin slowly faded into oblivion, thoughts of her father came to her.

In her vision, Martin was still a child and her father in his prime, wearing the uniform of the Praetorian Guard—hand-selected bodyguards of the ProConsul.

“But, Father,” the young Martin had asked, “why do you have to be gone tonight?”

“It’s my duty, Emily,” replied her father. “I have to stand watch at the Eternal Flame tonight, and if I don’t go someone else will have to.”

“Well, let someone else do it!” pouted the young Martin, wanting her father to stay with her and her mother.

Martin’s father looked sternly at her, but after a quick pause and a sigh of understanding he leaned down and put his hand to her cheek. She could feel his calloused, powerful hands against her face, but his touch was gentle and calming.

“Emily,” he said softly, “you’re a Martin. And Martins are soldiers. Our society has to be able to count on us. Even if it’s hard, even if it seems impossible, we do whatever we have to for our people. We can’t give up on our duties, no matter how hard it is or how much it hurts.” Martin’s father rose and repositioned his belt to align perfectly with the lines of his tunic. “Can I count on my little soldier?” he asked.

“Yes, father,” replied the adult Martin out loud as she began to summon the strength to move. “You can count on me.”

Martin clinched her teeth and sucked in a deep breath. With all of her strength, she quickly rolled up onto her knees. Martin’s head slumped toward the ground and she let out a piercing scream which echoed across the abandoned battlefield as the pain from her stomach and shoulder enveloped her.  Clenching her left fist, she struggled against the almost unbearable pain to raise her head.

There was carnage all around her. Wrecked equipment and torn bodies littered the ground as far as her agony-blurred vision would allow her to see.

The pain in her stomach seemed to subside to a dull ache in her kneeled position but only made the intense pain in her mangled shoulder more prevalent. A slight shift in her position caused her shoulder’s position to change, causing exposed bones and tendons to rub against her uniform. She let out another moan and fell forward, catching herself with her left arm. As she did, the pain from her stomach wound raced up her spine. Her arm gave way and she fell forward. Pain pulsated through her body as her face fell into the deepening mud and muck.

Rolling onto her left side, Martin let out several rapid heavy breaths of agony. Each quick, short breath pushed out muddy water from her mouth as the ever-increasing rain began to turn the battlefield to an even more horrible lake of mud, metal, and flesh.

Slowly focusing her eyes, she saw the body of a medic lying nearby. His hand, half buried in mud, held a medical pack. 

Using her left arm and head for leverage, Martin slowly pulled her body forward as she struggled to reach the pack. Every meter felt like a kilometer as she fought to ignore the pain and maintain consciousness. In a few moments that seemed like an eternity, Martin reached the pack.

Rolling unto her back to free up her left arm, she reached blindly into the bag. Feeling a few items in the bag, she pulled them out and held them to her face. 

Martin let out a sigh of relief as she read the labels. There was a coagulant to slow the bleeding from her abdomen and shoulder and a few neuro-inhibitors for the pain. Ripping the cover from the coagulant with her teeth, she shook the bag and a small can fell onto her chest. Taking the can, she quickly sprayed the sticky fluid onto her stomach and shoulder. It was ice cold, and she could instantly feel the area around her wounds tighten as the chemicals constricted vessels and slowed the flow of blood to the wounds. 

Next she took one of the neuro-meds in her hand; this would not be as easy. Again biting off the protective cap, she exposed a thick metal injection pin. Gripping the back of the tube tightly, she let out a deep breath and then drew in another, holding it. In as powerful a motion as she could muster, Martin rammed the injector into her thigh. She let out a grunt as she felt the sharp sting of the injector followed by the burning hot sensation of the meds entering her body.

Martin felt her breathing slow and the intense pain in her shoulder transition from a searing, stabbing pain into a dull ache. After taking a moment to ready herself, Martin rolled onto her stomach. Her right arm was useless despite the medication; it flopped clumsily by her side as she moved. Spitting out the mud and water that had accumulated in her mouth, she pulled her left arm under her body, gritted her teeth, and pushed herself up to a kneeling position.

Grunting again, she could feel the tightness in her stomach along with a nearly unbearable pain in her gut. On her hand and knees Martin positioned herself beside a dead Humani officer to her left. Another painful repositioning and she rocked back on to her knees so that she could take the pistol from dead man’s holster. Reaching backwards, Martin stuck the pistol into her waistbelt.