The Catherine Kimbridge Chronicles #4, Retribution Read online

  The officer spotted the Chairman and immediately began to make his way over. Snatch Bait signaled one of his guards to intercept the lieutenant. He would be held and punished later for his lack of common sense, but for the moment the Chairman was intent on enjoying his meal. He took another sip of his cocktail. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the lieutenant talking frantically with his security officer. The security officer, for his part, seemed startled. This was Snatch Bait’s first inkling that something was terribly wrong. The security guard brought the lieutenant over to his table. There must indeed be a serious issue for such a breach of his privacy to occur.

  “Your honor, I beg forgiveness at this unseemly interruption of your meal…,” the young lieutenant began.

  Snatch Bait waved his trunk dismissively.“You are here. Stop wasting my time and tell me what was so important that you would risk your officer’s commission.”

  The officer’s Suhtii gulped.“Sir, we have intelligence reports that our departure from Naanac has prompted action from the Naan Rebel Alliance. They are attempting to seize command and control centers in every major city, including corporate headquarters in Harromog.”

  Snatch Bait swore. It was unthinkable. He threw the glass of half-finished cocktail down. The sound of the glass shattering caused the three guards and the young lieutenant to step back.

  “Crush them,” he said, softly, when he had calmed down. This was the first test of his authority as Chairman, and he could not allow a slave world to think he was weak… especially not his chosen capital.

  “Sir?”

  The Chairman looked up at the young lieutenant.“What is your name?”

  “Sir… I’m Lieutenant Breakwater of the 1st of the 16thMobile Infantry, sir.”

  “You are to report to General Moss onboard the Redclaw and deliver the following message: I want the Redclaw and Tidepoolto break formation and return to Naanac. You, lieutenant, are to take command of an assault company and personally deal with the situation in Harromog. The rest of the planet is under the purview of the General. I want my capital back and I want a message sent that is clear and incontestable. Am I clear‘Captain’ Breakwater?”

  ***

  Cat raced down the corridor at a brisk sprint. Unfortunately, the bad news they were expecting had finally come in. Modos Syndicate forces were responding in force to the ill-timed uprising on Nanaac. Word that the rebels were planning mischief leaked back to the Syndicate High Command a mere twenty minutes before the Modos flagship with the Chairman onboard entered a hyperfield conduit in route to GCP space. This allowed the Chairman on the flagship to receive and respond to the urgent message from the capital before he was out of communication range. Those twenty minutes caused the GCP Admiralty Board to reshuffle its carefully orchestrated plans.

  “Such are the hazards of war,” Cat thought to herself, glumly, as she made her way to the primary landing bay onboard the GCP Yorktown. She knew no plan ever survived contact with the enemy, but this was lunacy… and she feared it might very well bear a price to be paid in blood. She would recall later how well-founded her fears were.

  Only the microscopic ENOs had given the GCP advanced knowledge of the counter offensive. The tiny machines had relayed a message to the cloaked WhimPy-101 platform in Modos space. The WhimPy in turn relayed a message via a temporal hyperfield communication conduit opened between the two universes.

  Rounding the corner, Cat was forced to wait for the reinforced blast door that gave access to the primary launch bay to open. The bay was filled with marines scrambling to get their various assault craft ready.

  There were sixteen armored transports, each capable of carrying forty troops and associated gear into a hot zone. In addition, the bay held four ground effect M10 Abram Hyper-tanks. The marines were all dressed in Mark Six Tactical Support System battle suits, or TSSs, that were essentially self-contained tanks. Given the acronym and general appearance of the armor, the men and women called the Mark Sixes“Tony Stark Specials,” or just simply“Starks.”

  Cat spotted the man she was looking for. Lieutenant Commander Peter LeAnder was just buttoning up his Mark Six. Standing next to him was Sergeant Thomas. The nanite infused helmet was hinged open, revealing their faces, but little else. The sergeant was yelling orders, while at the same time confirming his suit’s various combat systems were ready to go.

  “I want everybody to have two spare power packs. The suits are only designed for one, so get your combat buddy to use that marvel of modern technology called duct tape to strap another one on your right shoulder. Everyone put ’em in the same place, so when the enemy fraks your sorry ass your buddy doesn’t have to waste time looking for spares to steal. Everybody clear?”

  “Sergeant—yes, Sergeant!” came the thunderous united roar.

  As Cat walked up to the two men, they spotted her and executed a sharp salute.

  “Admiral!” Commander LeAnder said, by way of greeting.

  “Carry on, Commander. I’m just stopping by to make sure you have everything you need.”

  “My men are good to go. Give us the word and we will be jumping within thirty seconds.”

  “Good to hear, Commander.”

  Cat looked around the large launch bay and could not help but be impressed. Even in the few minutes she had been in the bay, the planned chaos was winding down and the men and women under LeAnder’s command were shutting the helmets on their Mark Sixes.

  Cat turned back to the Marine officer in front of her.“Pete—you understand your orders?”

  “Yes, Admiral,” he answered, while closing his own armor.“We have two objectives. First, we are to defend the civilian and rebel forces; second, we are to secure and hold Harromog.” His voice now had a slight metallic timbre.

  “Correct. As soon as you have secured the Syndicate headquarters building, I want you to get a message back to me. We need the intel in that building. Remember, our entire strategy hinges on the support of insurrection forces on the various Modos slave worlds. If we fail here, we likely fail everywhere.”

  “Understood, ma’am. My marines will not let you down.”

  “Never a doubt, Pete. Never a doubt.” Before she could say more, her commlink beeped for her attention. She silently instructed her AI to acknowledge it. It was from Commander Ken Kirkland, who was currently manning the Bridge.

  “Admiral… we have arrived two light minutes out on the far side of their sun,just like you requested. The WhimPy’s math was spot on.”

  “Are we cloaked?”

  “Affirmative, Admiral… although that would not matter if anyone was within line of sight of our entrance vortex.”

  “Hopefully, the proximity to the sun and our position relative to Naanac worked in our favor.”

  “What do our sensors tell us? How many ships are currently in system?”

  There was a pause as Ken checked his readouts.“It appears that there are two Modos frigates in the Lagrange point between the planet and its largest moon.”

  “Excellent. Proceed best possible speed to a low planetary orbit just outside of the exosphere. We’ll use the bulk of the planet to hide our troop deployment.”

  “Very good, Admiral. We should be in low orbit in ten minutes. Kirkland, out.”

  Lieutenant Commander LeAnder stood, patiently. The Admiral’s raised finger signaled the pause in their conversation while she responded silently to a separate commlink conversation. Finally, Admiral Kimbridge focused her attention on him once again.

  Grabbing his arm and moving the Commander away from the others, she said, quietly,“Pete, I have another mission for you.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but he knew she could not see his face through his Mark Six faceplate.“Admiral?”

  “This one is strictly off books.”

  “That’s always the best type, ma’am,” he said, with a grin that split his face.

  ***

  “Back!” Sigul yelled, while hopping over a ruined hover sled. Smoke and flames shield
ed his view of the others. The sound of kinetic rounds impacting on the stone wall behind him caused him to duck lower.

  “This position is being overrun. Regroup at the beta site. Drop your weapons and try to blend in with the general population.”

  His team of twenty East-Tree irregulars had been the last to flee the headquarters building. His was one of three teams that had jointly taken over the facility less than twenty-four hours ago with very little effort. He should have known it was too easy. The irregulars had taken over similar facilities all around the planet. For the first time in more than a generation, it had seemed the planet was once again free. Freedom, such as it was, lasted less than a day.

  Somehow, the Modos had gotten wind of their plans. That was the only way they could have responded so fast. Several ships carrying shock troops, aircraft, and armored vehicles arrived in orbit several hours earlier. The better armed and trained Modos soldiers made quick work of the Naanac irregulars. The rebels had been routed. In some cases entire city blocks had been turned to rubble. Fires swarmed the city unabated, as fire suppression crews were unable to respond because of the fighting.

  Sigul heard a moan from behind some debris to his left. He went to investigate. It was Motoe… a friend of his from the distillery where he had been assigned to work. Copper green blood oozed from a cut on his forehead. He went to help his friend up. They had to clear this area before the Modos took the square on foot.

  The task was not easy. Smoke stung his eyes. The ground was littered with bits of broken stone and sharp metal. They made it about half a measure when kinetic rounds again began to pepper the walls behind them. Sigul tried to duck but he felt the tug of Motoe’s body as a round slammed into the wounded man. At the same time a burning sensation exploded in Sigul’s right leg. He collapsed in pain as he realized he too had been shot. The last thing he remembered before falling unconscious was a great wind blowing through the square.

  ***

  Private Stone was sweating inside his Stark. He knew the systems; AI kept the internal temperature at a constant 23 degrees Celsius—but for the life of him it felt hotter. His teeth rattled as the transport he was in worked its way violently through the thick Naanac atmosphere. He looked at the others nearest him. All were holding on to cargo straps as the ship bucked wildly in the turbulence.

  His platoon sergeant kept up a lively banter to keep everyone’s mind on something other than the fact that they were essentially free falling tens of kilometers toward a hard rocky surface in a metal bucket built by the lowest bidder who was most certainly not on board the transport at this particular moment.

  “’Join the Marines!’ my recruiter said!” the Sergeant quipped.“’See the universe!’” he continued.“’Meet exotic races. Take the opportunity to shoot at them!’ ‘Hu-rah!’ I said!”

  “Hu-rah!” the platoon echoed.

  “I said hurrah!”

  “Hurrah!”

  “I said hurrah!”

  ”Hurrah!” Private Stone yelled, along with thirty-eight other marines

  “Now, that’s more like it, girls and boys… Remember, you signed up for this!”

  The buffeting suddenly stopped, as the transport leveled out and hovered a few meters above a square in the middle of a combat zone in the capital city of Harromog.

  “This is it, boys and girls… look sharp!”

  Private Stone inched forward in his seat. As soon as the transport touched down, the rear ramp would drop and the marines would be given the order to deploy. He knew that the first few minutes a landing craft hit ground were the most dangerous. Soldiers were concentrated and comparatively vulnerable. Their training emphasized getting up and out before bad things could happen. It was not a lesson he wanted to learn the hard way.

  The transport touched down with a deafening crunch. At first the ship was not quite level, but then ,with a grinding noise, it settled the rest of the way. Private Stone tried not to think about what it was they might have landed on and why it was suddenly much flatter.

  “GO GO GO!” The sergeant yelled.

  Private Stone found himself rushing out the rear of the transport and into a scene from an apocalyptic nightmare. Buildings were shattered. Everywhere he looked he could see signs of violent and brutal fighting. Smoke and flames emanated from burned-out vehicles and piles of rubble that once had been small buildings.

  “Get a move on, son… this ain’t no sightseeing tour. Secure a parameter one hundred yards out.”

  Private Stone felt a shove on his shoulder as the sergeant backed up his command with a not-so-gentle shove. It was less than fifty feet away that Private Stone found the first of the bodies.

  Chapter Seven– Total War...

  General Moss scanned the readouts from the bridge of the Redclaw. Try as he might, he saw absolutely nothing. None of the scanners gave any hint of other ships within the Naanac system. How in the Great Shell had so many GCP troops and short range support craft suddenly appeared?

  He had just been forced to send an FTL message with orders for several ships scheduled for the invasion task force to redeploy to his position in the Naanac system. He was taking a great risk in doing so. The chairman himself had ordered their participation in what the he was calling“The Grand Undertaking.” Still, the general had no choice. Losing control of Naanac after the chairman had ordered him to suppress the uprising would almost certainly ensure his early retirement in the form of a very public execution.

  He turned his attention back to the planet below.

  “Redeploy and focus all our troops on Harromag. We must retake and hold the Capital. Inform Captain Breakwater that I will be arriving shortly to take personal command of the ground situation.”

  “As you order, sir,” his executive officer answered.“If I may ask… what are your orders for the other cities where we are seeing slave uprisings?”

  General Moss looked deeply into his executive officer’s eyes. As was often the case in the Modos senior command structure, his exec reported his activities directly to the Chairman’s office. This insured elements of the military were not tempted to stage a hostile takeover. He was not going to give his exec an excuse to question his commitment.

  “Send them a message,” he said, quietly.

  “Sir?”

  “Nuke them.”

  ***

  “Reports are starting to come in, Admiral,” Commander Ken Kirkland said, from his station as first officer aboard the GCP Yorktown. “Our troops are only encountering resistance in a couple of locations… most notably the capital. All other locations had minimal Modos presence and our people essentially just walked in and setup shop alongside the Naan resistance.”

  “Very good. Have Commander LeAnder focus his attention on the Syndicate Headquarters district. Any action by those two Syndicate Frigates in orbit?”

  “Negative. Combined they are not as big as we are, so the troops they deployed on the surface may be all they have to send. They are actively scanning the space surrounding the planet. My guess is they are trying to figure out how and where our forces came from. Since we are cloaked, it must have seemed like they appeared out of thin air.”

  Lieutenant Zimmerman, the Yorktown's communication officer, tapped his ear and glanced up.

  Cat noticed his sudden start, and asked, "What have you got, Ziggy?"

  “A message coming in from WhimPy-101, ma’am.”

  “Put me through, Lieutenant.”

  The communications officer tapped his keyboard and nodded an acknowledgment when the channel was open.

  Cat smiled as she said,“What’s up, my friend?”

  A slightly metallic and yet warm and strangely compassionate voice filled the bridge.

  “Admiral, so good to hear your voice. I have missed our little talks,” the sentient weapons platform said over the loudspeaker.

  “I do, too, 101. Perhaps when this business with the Modos is done we can find time to continue them. Can I assume your call is not purely social?
”

  “Indeed, it is not. I have been monitoring ENO traffic, as requested by Admiral Faragon. The commander of the ground forces on Naanac is a General Moss. He has sent a request for additional ships. I’m afraid you are about to have a lot more company.”

  “Any chance you can intercept and or block the message?”

  “I’m afraid not, Admiral. The General used a hyperfold communications conduit to route his message directly to ships awaiting their turn at the trans-universal jump point. There are four more frigates and a destroyer en route to you now.”

  “ETA?”

  “Thirty minutes to jump into system, then another hour until planetary orbit.”

  “Thanks, 101. Advise the Admiralty board and request reinforcements. We may…”

  “Admiral!” Ken Kirkland yelled, as he stood up and pointed toward the main view screen. Even from hundreds of kilometers above the surface, Cat could see the formation of mushroom clouds in many of the larger cities.

  “My God…” Commander Ben said, from his engineering station.

  “God had very little to do with this,” Cat responded, through gritted teeth.

  ***

  Lieutenant McKinney was a large man. Marines often were. By virtue of his size, he wore a specially modified Mark Six. It was fitted with what the engineers liked to call a portable plasma cannon. It was accompanied by a micro-reactor capable of generating three quarters of a terawatt of electrical energy. Although the generator was little larger than a loaf of bread,it, along with the plasma cannon it supported, weighed in excess of a thousand pounds. In this context“portable” was a nebulous concept. If his suit ever lost power, he would be unable to move. As it was, he was a walking tank, with both impressive personal shields and enough fire-power to wage a one-man war.