Interceptor (Strike Commander Book 2) Read online

   It was one-on-one, and the two of them launched their missiles almost at the same instant, targets heading towards each other as the enemy pilot finally decided that discretion was the better part of valor, running for home. Conway tapped a control to instruct his missile to ignore that of the enemy, then turned towards the shattered remains of the recently destroyed fighter, burning towards the newly created debris field, playing his thrusters in a futile attempt to throw the incoming missile off the scent.

   Throwing his engine to maximum, he watched as the pirate tried a futile series of course changes in an attempt to dislodge the missile's lock on him, before pausing to throw himself into a course towards the rings, simply gunning his engine to full speed. Seconds later, the pirate ejected from his craft, moving fast enough that his friends would be able to rescue him long before Churchill could put a fighter into the air to stop him.

   That just left one missile on his tail. Sullivan was curving around towards him, but he knew what he was doing. He slid into the debris field, firing his thrusters to swerve from side to side, making the missile's guidance computer work overtime to stay on his tale. With a blinding flash, it caught a fragment of the ruined pirate fighter, unable to change course in time to avoid destruction.

   “Nice flying,” Sullivan said, pulling in alongside.

   “Thought I'd put on a show for the rooks,” he replied, tapping a control. “Churchill, we don't have the delta-v to catch the other two, but...”

   “We're tracking them all the way,” Mallory said. “We should have the precise location of the enemy base in a second.” There was a brief pause, and she added, “And we're finally getting a signal from the surface.”

   “Weak, though,” Dixon added, breaking in. “Not traffic control. More like a boosted portable communicator. I'll patch you through.”

   “This is the Mayor of Sinaloa Colony,” a breathless voice said. “We need help! Right away! They're killing us! I...” The signal broke into static.

   “Get them back,” Mallory said.

   “The signal ended at their end,” Dixon replied.

   “You'd better get Morgan and her hit squad on the move,” Conway said. “The battle might be over up here, but it looks like it's just getting started down there.”

  Chapter 2

   Ensign Valeria Morgan scrambled into the shuttle as it started to drop through the elevator airlock, a rifle in one hand and a combat datapad in the other, hands pulling her in as the hatch slammed shut. She glanced back at the door, shook her head, then dropped down into a seat by the airlock as the shuttle slid out into space, the engine roaring to decelerate the ship, sliding down towards the planet below.

   She glanced at the scanty information Churchill had received from the surface, the few hints gleaned from the brief communication and the sensor data they'd gathered. From the evidence of the fighter battle, they were fighting people with some training, likely in an entrenched position, but it seemed likely that they'd have local support on their side. There were some brief diagrams of the layout, ripped from an advertisement issued by the local government to prospective investors, but nothing of any real use.

   Dropping the datapad back to her lap, she looked around the cabin at her hastily-thrown together squad. Aside from Lieutenant-Major Bennett, she was the only Espatier on Churchill, the only one trained for close-quarters combat and ground warfare. Not that she considered herself an expert. She'd spent the last three years in university, getting a degree in anthropology, and her officer's rank had only been provided to her when she switched to the reserves, in anticipation of a staff job in the event of mobilization.

   She'd seen some action during her all-too-brief time in the Fleet, but never commanded anything larger than a fire time in combat. The sort of urban warfare she was about to jump into was something she'd never even been seriously trained for. The Triplanetary Espatiers, and the Martian Marines before them, rarely had to undertake that sort of work. Local security patrols, certainly, and most of her time in uniform had been spent helping to sweep the under-levels of Mariner Station of the criminal gangs that had all but taken over the vital starport, but that had a very different emphasis.

   She looked around at her squad, trying to avoid letting her fears show in her eyes. She'd gathered together the best group she could find, swept the enlisted ranks for the best marksmen, the fittest crewmen, and given them what training she could given the time and limited equipment. It could never be enough, and she couldn't get past a sickening feeling that there was something she'd missed, some critical piece of information that would get them killed once they went into combat.

   There were no defects in the equipment, though. The latest model of body armor, complete with a full tactical net that she was only just beginning to master herself, combat rifles fitted with under-slung tranq and smoke grenade launchers, their sights calibrated to match the helmets. They had a better loud-out than most front-line troopers, which gave her a brief twinge of guilt. Still, they would require every advantage they could get when they reached the surface.

   Rising to her feet, all eyes on her, she said, “We'll be on the deck in a few minutes, and probably walking out into the middle of a firefight. Go right for cover, and don't take any unnecessary risks.” With a thin smile, she added, “We don't exactly have a mission profile for this operation, but we do know that bad people are doing bad things, and our orders are to stop them. Nice and simple.”

   “Don't forget to execute fire discipline. We're in an artificial environment, and that piece of equipment you shoot up might he all that's keeping everyone alive. More than that, we can expect a lot of civilians getting in the way. My guess is most of them will clear when the shooting starts, but don't fire at anyone who isn't shooting at you. But when you do shoot at someone, shoot to kill. The last thing we need is some wounded idiot trying to take a mob of people hostage with an automatic weapon.” Looking at her unit again, she said, “Trust your instincts. And if in doubt, hold your fire and get to cover. You can't go very wrong that way. Good hunting.”

   Trying to keep a reassuring smile on her face, she stepped forward into the cabin and dropped into the co-pilot's seat, looking up at the huge green world that filled the viewscreen, clouds of viscous smoke that the shuttle was about to dive through. She glanced at the pilot, Angelina Webster, Angel to her friends, who returned her stare with a frown.

   “You really believe that crowd back there are going to do anything other than get themselves killed? The two of us ought to be doing this by ourselves.”

   “Captain's orders,” she replied, shaking her head. “Not that I don't agree with you, but I guess she thinks we need the help.” The shuttle buffeted as it fell into the atmosphere, pulling up as the heat shield began to glow red, flames licking around the edges of the viewscreen as Angel carefully adjusted the course, sweeping through the clouds to reveal the wasteland beneath.

   “Lovely,” she said, shaking her head. “I think I'd rather stay in orbit.” Beneath was a dull wasteland with lapping shades of gray, with mound-like volcanoes spilling plumes of green and purple smoke into the sky. All along the horizon was a line of black, and as they grew nearer, it opened out into a vast sea, dark and viscous, with a trio of lights flashing on the mouth of a long, winding river.

   “Is that it?” Morgan asked.

   “Sinaloa Colony, vacation spot of the damned,” she replied. “If all goes well, a source of complex hydrocarbons to planets not yet settled.” A smile on her face, she said, “Hell of a business model.”

   “You've been there?”

   “Not personally, but I read up on it. I don't think there's much for the casual visitor.” She paused, and added, “Not much for any sort of visitor, if it comes to it.” Glancing down at a panel, she said, “I'm not getting anything from the ground, not even the navigational beacon. You want me to put her down at the spaceport?”

   Shaking her head, Morg
an replied, “Anywhere else suitable?”

   “Transit port, just by the Commercial Dome, used for atmospheric flights.” She shrugged, and added, “It should take us, I think. You figure there might be an ambush waiting for us down there?”

   “Probably. Or enough trouble that we might have difficulty making a safe landing.”

   Nodding, Angel said, “Consider it done. I'll set up the final descent sequence and be along in a minute. Don't think you're going to this party without me.”

   Clasping her friend on the shoulder with a smile, Morgan rose to her feet and stepped back into the cabin, snatching a respirator from the wall and securing the straps over her head. The planet wasn't habitable, but the pressure and temperature meant that it was possible to live outside in shirtsleeves, at least for a few minutes. Long enough for them to get to safety. She glanced at the rest of her squad, checking that all of their equipment was ready, then moved to the airlock with rifle in hand, waiting for the bump of the landing.

   When she had been on active duty, she'd always wondered how her platoon leader had managed to make herself appear so calm. She wasn't much older than Morgan, had only a few months more training, but still managed to appear like a calm and collected veteran, even when the bullets were raining down all around her. Now, she knew. All of it was just an act, something designed to inspire confidence among those under her command. Inside, a tiny voice was screaming in protest, warning her that she was about to be killed, and lead her unit to the same fate. With an effort she shut it out, turning back to Corporal Doyle and making a thumbs' up gesture.

   She stepped inside the airlock door while it was only half-open, Angel pushing in after her, almost knocking Nakadai to the floor in her haste. She strapped her respirator in position, holding her hand over the emergency release, ready for the landing. The descent thrusters were firing now with a barely perceptible roar, and the autopilot was bringing them down just beside the largest of the domes, a couple of hundred feet across. The hub of the colony.

   As the shuttle slowed to a stop, gently dropping onto the plasticrete, she tensed for an attack, expecting a missile to slam through the hull at any moment. At this point, one man with a shoulder-mounted launcher could bring their rescue mission to an abrupt end, but the attack never came and they settled into position, a series of green lights flashing on as the engines died, leaving only silence in their wake.

   “If we haven't got company now, we will in a minute,” she said, her voice rasping through the speaker on her respirator. “Let's go.”

   Angel tapped the button, and the two of them jumped down the ladder to the ground, the slimy oil soaking into their jumpsuits, running into their hair, raining down from the sky in sheets of grimy sludge, and splashing back up onto their boots. An emergency airlock was just ahead, and as they ran towards it, the rest of the squad following two at at time from the shuttle, it started to cycle, Morgan raising her rifle in readiness.

   A man stepped out wearing a black jumpsuit, a skull insignia on the sleeve, a pistol in his hand. He raised it to fire, and Morgan dived out of the way, falling into cover, while Angel calmly raised her rifle and took the shot, sending the man crashing back into the airlock, twitching as blood gushed from a wound in his chest. As the squad took to their feet, Morgan looked at her friend, shaking her head.

   “Pity,” she replied.

   “Oh?”

   “It would have been nice to get a prisoner.”

   Her communicator squawked, and she said, “Morgan here. Go ahead.”

   “Mallory. We've got a positive track on a shuttle heading your way from the enemy base in the rings. We aren't in a position to stop them, and we estimate they'll be making a landing in about three minutes.”

   “The starport,” Angel said. “They'll be heading down to pick up the rest of their people. God knows what they've already done in the colony, but we can stop them getting away if we move now.”

   “Wait a second,” Doyle replied. “Suppose they have the same idea we did?”

   Nodding, Morgan said, “Mendez, Nakadai, find cover on the perimeter of this field and wait. If you see anyone coming down, shoot them as soon as they land. Don't let them organize. The rest , follow me.”

   Sliding through the slimy ooze on the perimeter of the colony, they raced towards the waiting starport on the far side of the Commercial Dome. The designers of the outpost had laid it out in an open half-circle, five domes forming the curved edge and the remainder a large, open landing field. It was big enough to take ships ten times larger than the shuttles, the tankers they hoped would be launching from this planet in the near future.

   One look at the expanse of plasticrete sent dread rushing through her. There was almost no cover, only a pair of shuttles nestled close to one of the airlocks on the far side of the colony. With a shrug, she lay down on the ground, the rest of the squad by her side, dragging an abandoned oxygen tank across to use as a rest for her gun, tapping a control to make sure that the last dregs of the air inside were expelled.

   “Sinaloa to Landing Force,” a faint voice said. “This is Sheriff McCormack. Do you read me?”

   “Loud and clear, Sheriff,” Morgan replied. “What's the story?”

   “Looks like the pirates had some people down here we didn't know about. Informants, God knows what. They had a try at taking the Communications Building, but all they managed to do was smash it to hell. Right now they're heading for the starport, and if my readings are right, they've got some friends on the way.”

   “I've got my team in position,” she replied. “Can't say any more than that.”

   “Operational security, I know,” he said. “We're coming, but there's a hell of a mess back here, so we're going to be late to the party.” He paused, then added, “They've got hostages. Half a dozen children, including my daughter.”

   Angel cursed under her breath, loud enough to break into the channel, and Morgan replied, “We'll do everything we can, Sheriff. You have my word on that. Have medical teams standing by, just in case, and warn me before you arrive. The last thing we need is friendly fire.” She looked up, a pinpoint of light moving through the clouds, and added, “Looks like we're about to have company. Morgan out.”

   She looked up, watching as the shuttle moved into position, dropping down almost in the middle of the landing field, well away from the airlock. Someone was worried that there might be an unfriendly reception for them if they came down too close to the domes. They had to have seen the Triplanetary shuttle on the far side of the colony, but it was just possible that they'd assume they were tied up in the chaos taking place inside. Glancing at the rest of her squad, now a uniform gray and brown, she smiled. This rain might be evil stuff, but it was providing excellent camouflage.

   Reaching down in her pocket, she pulled out a pair of long cylinders, passing one of them to Angel without a word. They both knew what they were, and that they were very definitely not standard Espatier issue. High-explosive seekers that would leap through the air towards a target, a shaped charge ripping through even the toughest armor. They'd reduce that shuttle to scrap metal, but she didn't dare fire them yet. If they moved too soon, the pirates would simply duck back into the colony. They had to get them out into the open

   After what seemed like an eternity, the airlock doors cycled, disgorging a gaggle of people who started to trudge towards the waiting shuttle. She made out a dozen adults and the half-dozen children she was expecting, all of them covered by rifles. Glancing at Angel, she agonized for a long second, before raising her seeker and tapping the control. As the rocket fired, she jumped into the air and racing towards the pirates, making herself a target to distract them from shooting the hostages.

   To her right, a column of smoke and fire raced into the air as the seekers struck home, the shuttle's hull breached in a dozen places, the dying crewmen staggering out, covered in flickering flames, collapsing to the ground. Surprise bou
ght her the first shot, knocking one of the pirates to the side with a bullet in his chest.

   Shots rang out all around her, and the children scattered, running in all directions to escape their captors. She raced towards the pirates, swerving from side to side in a bid to avoid their fire, before slipping on a patch of oil and crashing to the ground, knocking the breath from her body. For an instant, she thought she was dead, but Angel jumped over her, firing bursts of semi-automatic fire at the pirates, catching their attention and giving her time to return to her feet, resuming her charge towards the enemy.

   Then the rear airlock opened again, and a group of blue-uniformed figures raced out into the darkness with pistols in hand, taking shots at the pirates, who belatedly looked around to find they were trapped, with nowhere to run. One of them lined up a shot on one of the children, perhaps hoping to avenge his imminent death, but a charging Mendez hurled herself on top the girl, taking the bullet that had been meant for the child.

   She heard a wailing scream from behind her, and turned to see Nakadai drop to the ground, clutching at her throat, Doyle diving towards her with medikit in hand, beginning a desperate battle to safe her life. Now it was just Angel and her on the charge, moving in with the Sheriff's team to mop up the survivors. Two of the pirates made a desperate race for a maintenance airlock before being caught in the blast radius of a frag grenade, shredding them where they stood.

   The battle was over almost before she realized it, the last of the pirates making it as far as the perimeter of the starport before dropping with a bullet in his back, the shot taken by the Sheriff. Tossing his weapon away, he sprinted for his daughter, snatching her in his arms before turning to look at the wounded trooper lying next to her. Doyle ran towards the pair, medikit in hand, and ran his eye over the girl before turning to the trooper.

   “Doyle…,” Morgan began.

   “The kid's fine,” the medic said. “Nakadai's in a bad way. I'll have to get her up to Churchill if she's going to have any chance.” Glancing at Mendez, she added, “That goes for both of them.”