Homeworld: A Military Science Fiction Novel (23 page)

Up Against the Ropes

“Main power has been brought back up to sixty five percent,” Mitchell informed him as Admiral Casa stared at another approaching Coalition Super Dreadnaught on the Virtual Array.

It had already released a salvo of Ceramics which were en route towards them.

“Let’s hope all those drills you nearly murdered the point defense crews with pay off,” Casa said, glancing at Mitchell and trying to sound hopeful.

The truth was that, whether or not they managed to live through the next couple of minutes, they were dead men and they both knew it. The battle had barely begun, but the ship couldn’t possibly keep fighting on such a level with the damage she had already taken and survive.

The thought shared by both men and most of the rest of the bridge crew was, “At least not for very long but they would do their best to take as many of the damned Coalitionists with them as they could!”

As the enemy Ceramics approached point blank range, another burst of flack was released. Point defense lasers met them in a storm of lashing energy. A few made it through the rapid fire beams but not many, and Admiral Casa found himself left alive and still breathing.

They knocked out life support to some of the ship’s lower decks but the damage wasn’t anywhere near as bad as he had feared. Deep inside the bowels of the ship, fresh Leap Frogs rolled home into launching tubes.

“Return fire!” Admiral Casa yelled so fiercely, spittle flew from his lips.

Sattar

The True Meaning

First Warlord Sattar’s Claw streaked out into the void. He didn’t waste a glance over his shoulder to see his command ship growing smaller behind him as his Claws engines poured on the power. His eyes stayed intently focused on the enemy vessels ahead of him.

There were groups of Earth and Darian vessels engaged with Coalition ships in every direction. An enemy cruiser speeding after a wounded Earth battleship caught his eye and he jerked his Claw to starboard, following it.

His personal Claw was slightly larger than the standard version of the one man, fighter craft, the added tonnage taken up by two extra “ship killer” missiles. Sattar pushed his Claw’s engines so far past their recommended safe zone, he could feel the fighter shaking and threatening to tear itself apart around him, but he overtook his target in mere seconds.

Sattar cut the power to the main drive back into a safer level as deceleration thrusters coughed plumes of propellants, bringing him into a near perfect targeting position, behind and above, the enemy cruiser. He squeezed the trigger on his control stick. His first set of ship killers struck the cruiser’s main engineering section dead on.

The ensuing explosion nearly flashed brightly against the backdrop of space as his Claw darted upwards and away from the cruiser in a steep climb. This time he did look back with a wide smile splitting his lips. The cruiser floundered behind him, unable to keep its course in pursuit of the Earth battleship as secondary explosions continued to rupture its hull from bow to stern.

A shot like that was the stuff the legends of fighter pilots were made of.

Sattar whipped his head around as the fighter’s computer signaled with a harsh warning shriek that another vessel had acquired a target lock on it.

Sattar dived in a spiral as a Coalition fighter came barreling after him. The area he flew into in his desperate attempt to escape was so congested with ships that he darted across the bow of a Coalition battleship before he fully realized it was even there.

Its point defense laser slashed through the darkness around his fighter, but was unable to score a hit as he slammed the Claw into a dangerously fast thrust once more.

The fighter that was following him plowed headlong into the battleship’s sidewall with an explosion of twisting and melting metal. Sattar let out a victory cry as he turned the fighter on its side to dash between two drifting, powerless vessels on a collision course for one another.

“This,” he thought, “this is when I am truly alive, with death waiting all around me and I am her messenger.”

A Pact of Friendship

Dinah stared across the length of the warehouse at the two small figures surrounded in a halo of artificial light. Though she could not make out many details at this distance, she knew one to be Admiral Clarkson of the Earth Republic Fleet current ranking officer in charge of the Infantry entrenched on their besieged home world. The second figure she only knew as Drake the man who had saved her and Abigail from being raped to death. The man who had escorted her safely through the nightmarish conditions of the battlefield all while dragging her unconscious squad mate along for the ride. The man who had willingly surrendered his weapons, weapons that were as much a part of him as her rifle had become a part of her. The man who said he was a former Rapier Commando turned traitor. She knew next to nothing about this man, but she yearned to know all of his secrets.

She had been taken to where she could eat and sleep, which was little more than improvised cots in a corner of the warehouse that was missing a section of its roof due to an artillery round that had done some minor redecorating.

While she watched the pair across the warehouse, she was gratefully devouring two M.R.E.s and a canteen full of cool water. Abigail also did the same, which Dinah hoped was a good sign. Her pain in the backside of a friend needed years of counseling and therapy after what she had gone through but she would probably get a few hours’ sleep and some extra ammo instead.

A tired young medical officer in the white uniform bearing the insignia of the medical corps, consisting of a blue caduceus superimposed, over an outline of the borders of Earth Republic space had checked out Dinah and Abigail’s wounds and then inquired as to which one of them had done the patch job. When Dinah pointed across the warehouse with her spork at the man sitting next to the Admiral, the M.O. just shook his disheveled blond hair covered head and said, “Well, he knows his work. I’ll give him that. I could not have done better under the same conditions. Still let me change your bandages and give you a sedative to help you both sleep. You seem wound up pretty tight and all of this light won’t help you get to sleep either.”

After a pill and a new dressing, Dinah and Abigail lay on their sides looking at each other. Nothing needed to be said, because the gaze that passed between them let them both know that they were thankful for what the other had done and they would always be there to watch the other’s back no matter where their respective careers took them. Then the sedative kicked in and they were in a deep dreamless sleep.

Confiding in the Enemy

Clarkson had requested that those who had brought the man sitting in a metal office chair a few feet away from him to withdraw as he wished to have a private conversation with the prisoner. Of course, Colonel Miller had objected but had been reassured when Clarkson had given him permission to have three trained marksman keep their rifles aimed at the former Coalitionist’s head if it would make him feel better. Colonel Miller had thanked the admiral and he and the small contingent of grizzled veteran Infantrymen who had guarded Drake withdrew out of hearing distance. Most maneuvered through the debris strewn floor of the warehouse on their way to return to their assigned patrols.

Meanwhile, Miller and two others took seats on bits of wreckage that were all around them in the battered warehouse and braced their rifles against more piles of debris or still intact wooden crates taking careful aim at Drake’s head. Colonel Miller was the only one of the three to keep his finger on the trigger

Someone had managed to find coffee and brew a pot. Admiral Clarkson picked up a metallic blue coffee pot from a folding table that had been found that now served as his desk in the corner of the warehouse with the most roof remaining. Of course that meant that he was in the darkest recess of the building, due to the power being out, but Colonel Miller had insisted, as it would help protect him from sniper fire.

In the artificial white glow of an Infantry field lantern, he poured the dark lustrous brew into two metal cups and offered the enigma in front of him a cup. The man accepted it with a grateful nod, and then Clarkson took a long drink from his own cup, savoring the flavor.

Clarkson’s muscles were cramped and his knees and back screamed in protest from the little jog he had done earlier today, so he reached into his right breast pocket of his, now scarred and pockmarked Infantry armor, and pulled out a pill bottle. Opening the bottle, he shook out two red pills and swallowed them with another swig of the coffee. As his varieties of “reds” were quick release, he felt almost instantaneously better. He offered the man sitting near him the bottle and Drake nodded with thanks and said, “Don’t mind if I do, Admiral,” before swallowing one with a swig of the sweet black elixir that was a well brewed cup of coffee.

As Drake handed the pill bottle back to the Admiral, he wondered how the tired old man with the sharp hazel eyes had known so quickly about one of the most significant parts of his past. The Rapier Commandos were an extremely elite group of superiorly trained and experienced killers. They were as silent as they were deadly. In fact, they were so good at what they did that their very name drew fear from some corners of known space. Drake had only met five others, but considering what he was preparing to divulge, chances were good that he would meet another one soon.

His body began to relax and the pain from the day’s exertions faded into a warmth that spread throughout his body. Drake did not feel impaired. He was just surprised by how fast the painkillers had worked. “If you are trying to drug me into talking, I assure you there is no need. I am fully prepared to tell you all you want to know for as long as you want to talk about it.” Drake paused to wave his coffee cup around at their surroundings. “Considering the circumstances, however, I suggest we keep our current conversation within the bounds of stopping the Coalition’s siege and destruction of your home world,” Drake said smiling slightly as he took another sip of coffee.

Clarkson chuckled and shook the pill bottle. “Fast acting is all, rank does have some privileges and it also comes with terrible responsibility,” the admiral said with a slight frown. “Now where do we start? First off, what should I call you?” the admiral asked, gesturing with his mug to Drake. “Well, sir, forty three years ago I was christened Daniel Liam Drake but most people just call me Drake or never have a chance to learn my name at all.” Drake paused and took another sip of the coffee. “You could call me a soldier, an assassin, a killer or an outright murderer if you prefer, and since we’re having this conversation, you could add traitor to my growing list of possible nomenclature but I prefer plain old simple Drake.”

It may have been the painkillers or something the Republic had added to the coffee but it felt really good to talk. Or the reason why Drake felt comfortable talking to Clarkson could be far simpler in that it simply felt good to talk to someone who looked as if he could understand what a life like his had been like.

“Drake it is then,” said the admiral, shifting in his seat and leaning forward as he held his mug with both hands and stared Drake straight in the eye. “Drake, to save time let us both be honest with each other. The Earth Republic Armed Forces are about to cease to exist on this planet. Already I’m getting reports that armed bands of civilians are throwing their lives away in a desperate attempt to dislodge the Coalition from this rock and I’d be right there supporting them if I had the resources and the manpower, but quite frankly I have neither.” Clarkson paused, swallowing another sip of coffee.

“You see, Drake, most of what remains of the Infantry is pinned down in heavily fortified bases around the planet. The rest of the poor bastards are being led by an admiral of the Republic Fleet.” The admiral paused, drained his mug, poured himself more coffee, and then topped off Drake’s mug. “Now, while I would be a holy terror if we met in warships in the stars above, down here I’m flying by the seat of my pants. I’m improvising every step of the way, which fortunately, so far, has kept most of us alive.” Clarkson drank deeply from his mug and sighed before saying, “Which is why I am going to ask one of my deadliest enemies, turned traitor, for advice. If you were in my place, finding yourself in command of what remained of the Earth Republic Infantry, what would you do?”

Drake raised his eyebrows in surprise as he leaned back in his metal chair. He was impressed by the question. It cut through long hours of talk regarding Coalition deployments and goals and simply asked how to hit the Coalition where it hurt. Either the admiral was a truly wise man worthy of his rank or he was desperate. “Actually,” Drake mentally corrected himself, “he is probably both.” “That is a tough question, Admiral Clarkson. Please give me a moment to think?” Drake requested and the admiral nodded saying, “Take all the time you need. Lord knows I’ve been sitting in the dark wracking my brain long enough.”

Drake was used to quickly sizing up situations and determining the best strategy that would lead to the best possible outcome, but he only knew half of the equation. He had no idea what forces the admiral could bring to bear so he focused on what he knew about the Coalition. He drained his coffee cup as he made his decision. “I would send myself and one other, who is as close to my level of skill that you have, to survey the Tereshkova Memorial Spaceport. I was supposed to be part of the task force to take the base, before one of your missiles changed the way my day went, and I ended up here instead.

I happen to know by listening to com traffic,” Drake tapped the side of his helmet, “that after the base was taken, the majority of the task force was to move on the Earth Republic Infantry base designated as Alpha. I believe you met them earlier today and showed them what a fusion tank grenade looked like. A very impressive maneuver, by the way.” The admiral inclined his head at the compliment as Drake continued.

“Now that task force is looking for you and your Infantry, but they have no idea where to look so they are systematically searching the entire city. This provides the perfect opportunity for two people to sneak in and have a look, at not only what Coalition forces are there, but what can be improvised to work in your favor. As I understand it there are a lot of cargo ships docked there that may just be loaded with something we could use. Also there are the spaceport’s earth to orbit missiles which, while a little old, could be used to get rid of some of the blockade up above.

That is what I would do if I were in command Admiral but I must confess I only know what the coalition has. I do not know the current capabilities of the Earth Republic Infantry. If I were in command, I would issue the order now, as it would possibly be my last desperate hope at victory. Also I would like the use of your vid for a moment so that I can give you the frequencies and codes that will allow you to listen to Coalition com traffic so that you can move your remaining forces ahead of their search pattern and know what they are planning. I believe you will find this to be quite a tactical advantage.”

Clarkson measured the man with his eyes over the brim of his metal coffee cup as he took a slow swallow and handed him his hand held vid. “That is the best plan for an effective means of hurting the Coalition I’ve heard all day. Of course I’ve only been asking myself and I’m fresh out of clever ideas so we will go with yours.” The admiral set his cup down on the folding table and stood beckoning to one of the soldiers behind Drake. “Of course I warn you that you might not like the company I’ll be sending with you. He’s the most effective man I’ve got and he’d like nothing more than to put a bullet in your brain pan but he is a loyal Infantryman and will follow orders.”

“By the way Drake what was your rank when you were a Coalitionist?” Clarkson asked as Drake could hear someone approach from behind. “I was a Colonel, Admiral Clarkson, at least on paper.” “Good, that should make this a little easier at least,” Clarkson said, nodding to himself.

Drake finished downloaded the com frequencies and encryption codes to the Admiral’s vid just as Colonel Miller stepped out of the shadows, with his rifle still trained on Drake, and said simply, “Sir?”