Battle Beyond Earth: Retaliation Page 7

  Wright couldn't believe what he was hearing.

  "You think this is not an isolated incident?"

  Taylor shook his head.

  "My god, come on, follow me."

  They arrived at the bridge and found repairs already underway. Two of the crew were being given treatment at their stations for superficial wounds.

  "We need intel, pronto. You can bet your ass this isn't an isolated incident."

  "What should we do?"

  The Captain had no shame in looking to Taylor for some advice. But Taylor looked distracted. It was as if he was shocked and stunned. He was thinking of Alita, that much seemed clear.

  "Despatch a fleet to Earth. Three ships. Enough that they can defend themselves if need be, without weakening our position here. We need to know what the hell is going on."

  "I'll get on it, and to the bottom of what happened here, Colonel. We can take it from here. Go to her."

  Taylor hadn't even noticed his last comment. But he soon snapped out of it as he noticed the silence that followed.

  "Go," Wright repeated.

  He didn't need any more prompting. He rushed off the bridge. Jones was waiting for him. He ran past without a word, and that prompted his friend to follow.

  "Get our people ready! I want everyone on duty and on full alert."

  "Ready for what?"

  "Anything."

  Jones slowed to a halt as Taylor strode on ahead. He finally reached the medical bay where he knew she would be. Screams rang out as a wounded woman was carried inside, but as he passed through the door, it was just as he expected. There were only a handful of wounded.

  There must be bodies stacked high in the morgue. It’s an awful thought, and yet I doubt I’d know a single name of those resting in peace.

  "Alita Hariz, where is she?" he demanded.

  He didn't wait for a response and stomped through the hallway, looking through each of the cubicle windows. He found her without any help. She was inside a treatment capsule, with just her head visible. She looked calm and comfortable. He stepped inside and could see her smile as she spotted him. He was just glad to see she was still breathing.

  "How are you doing?" he asked.

  "I'm good. You know they pump you full of enough drugs, and you can't feel anything at all."

  He looked down to a screen on the device that showed the work being done. She was suspended in the middle of the capsule that held her horizontal at bed height. Her injuries were being worked on simultaneously. Muscle strands and skin being repaired. He didn't understand how it worked, but he was impressed nonetheless.

  "She lost a lot of blood, but we'll have her back on her feet in no time. A lucky escape, she couldn't afford to have lost much more."

  A doctor stood in the doorway.

  "Lucky? We aren't in the business of luck."

  The doctor shrugged. "However you like it," he said and walked away.

  The device finished, and lights flashed as final checks were carried out.

  "See? Almost done."

  "He watched the screen. She was being wrapped in some form of compression suit from ankle to neck. Finally, the machine finished and prised open. To him it looked more like a tanning booth than anything else. Yet she sat up, reaching out to take his hand to help her stand up. She looked a little sore and stiff, but there she stood, alive and well.

  "Good as new," she said, still smiling.

  Taylor shook his head.

  "What?"

  "You. No armour, no gear, and yet you went at them like a raging beast."

  She quivered a little, and a tear dropped down her face.

  "I just wanted to live."

  He could tell she really meant it. Her survival instinct was strong, but not for the reason he thought.

  "I just wanted another day with you," she added.

  It almost brought him to tears, a feeling he had rarely ever known. He wiped the tear from her face and that brought her smile back.

  "You've got many more yet. But you can bet your ass we are going to be needed right about now, and on top form. Are you up to the task?"

  "Always." She stepped away and reached for the clean uniform that had been set beside her bed.

  He could see she wasn't really ready, and she tried to hide her pain and stiffness as she pulled the clothes on. But he would rather have her by his side where he could protect her, than risk leaving her in the hands of others.

  "Lead the way and I will follow," she said, finally strapping her sidearm on and gesturing for him to go onwards.

  He was glad to see her enthusiasm. But as they stepped out of the medical facility, the extent of their situation weighed on him. The uncertainty was even worse.

  "What now?"

  "We wait and hope for the best. We've despatched ships to Earth."

  "What are you expecting?"

  He shrugged. "Let's not speculate, but wait and see."

  It was a long wait, and there was little to do with their time but assemble and clean their equipment in preparation for their next task. Taylor sat cleaning the blade he had claimed from the enemy. It was in part a trophy, but it also intrigued him. The blade was lightly curved and tapered out to a broader tip. There was no crossguard of any kind, just a grip that looked like bone or horn, long enough to be wielded in one or two hands. As he looked closer, he could see an intricate weave and pattern in the metal.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" Alita asked; as she studied her own that was much the same.

  "Simple, but perfect," he added.

  Compared to their powered Assegai it seemed primitive, but the steel was of such a construction or quality they had not seen before. It only now dawned on him just how lucky an escape they had had. The weak Amitad guns had made him believe their blades would be no better, but now he understood he was almost as vulnerable as Alita had been.

  "Such primitive people, and yet look at what they produce," said Alita.

  "Not so primitive as you might think."

  They both looked up. Jones was observing them, and they waited for him to continue.

  "You know the Romans looked down on the Celts as primitive barbarians, but even they could marvel at the quality of their blades."

  Taylor smiled.

  "What?"

  "Nothing, you just sound like the Jones I used to know. Could always rely on him for these useless little bits of info from a never-ending wealth of history books he would read."

  Chapter 5

  "Colonel Taylor to the bridge."

  It was the call he had been dreading. He wanted to know where they stood, but the news would almost certainly be bad. He jumped out of his chair and headed to the bridge with Jones and Alita at his back. He stepped aboard to find a dire tone. Things were worse than bad and everyone knew it.

  “Give it to me straight,” he said abruptly to the Captain.

  “I am sorry to say the attack on this station, and the one on the Navarin, were not isolated incidents.

  “Well, how many more attacks have their been?” Jones asked impatiently.

  Wright seemed uncomfortable, and his lip quivered.

  “Well, come on, man, spit it out!”

  “All over, Colonel. Hundreds of sightings have been recorded.”

  “Where?”

  “Planets, stations, transport convoys. There are new encounters every few minutes. But they are crazy.”

  “How so?” Jones asked.

  Taylor already knew it was exactly as they had both feared.

  “We’ve got reports of ships crashing on impact, jumping half into the surface of moons. One even jumped right into a Cholan battlecruiser. It’s like they are just randomly being thrown out there without any rhyme nor reason.”

  “Oh, there is a reason to it.”

  Everyone waited intently for Taylor to explain.

  “If you have no regard for the lives of those you command, you can merely throw them in enough numbers in the rough direction of the enemy.”

  “
But the losses, they must be massive?”

  “Almost certainly, Captain. But if they have so many, then they can afford to waste them. Every single death on our side is a tragedy. We cannot afford to lose people nor ships.”

  “You think anyone would be as callous and selfish as to rule that way?”

  Taylor nodded. He knew very well. He had experienced it first hand. Jones went on with another reference to their history.

  “Just like the Romans. Lose as many mercenaries in a battle as you like, but spill no Roman blood and win that battle, and it is a total victory; that is the value these creatures must have to their masters.”

  It was a dreadful notion. Not just that they could well be used the same way, but that the enemy was a cold and calculating one that could not been beaten into submission.

  “You all need to get this through your heads right now!” Taylor said firmly, seeing the fear on their faces, “You cannot scare this enemy. You cannot break them, nor make them run from you. They will come at you, and keep coming at you until you are dead. So it’s really quite simple. You lie down and die because there is nowhere to run, or you fight with everything you have. Fight until they have nothing left to throw at us.”

  “And if this is just a numbers game, and they have more?” Wright asked.

  “Bullshit. You think every battle, every war, has been won with the side with the most numbers. Everyone likes an underdog, and we’re it. And it ain’t half bad. The underdog knows he has a mountain to climb, and an opponent who has an awfully long way to fall.”

  His words had helped a bit, but they would only carry the morale so far, and he couldn’t stay with them forever.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Did you receive no orders through the vessels that were sent out? Nothing from the President even?”

  Wright shook his head.

  “Everything is in chaos. No one even knows where the President is, but I have no doubt he is safe.”

  “I need to speak with you privately, Captain.”

  Wright handed command over to his number two and led them to his quarters. He sat down at his desk, sighing as the three stepped in beside one another. They were an intimidating sight, but Wright’s attention turned to a picture on his desk. Taylor could just make it out, a family shot. The Captain slowly looked up at the three of them.

  “So what do we do?”

  “You have no standing orders, no plan for this?”

  He shook his head.

  “When I took this command, I was told we would not see the enemy for some time. My job was to administer this station and service the fleet. To make the necessary improvements to defensive measures where I could. I have done precisely that. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We did not expect to make contact with any enemy for some time.”

  “Yeah, well, the enemy have a tendency to do their own thing. They don’t like to follow your plans any more than we do theirs. That is war,” stated Taylor.

  “For now I am going to do what I was ordered. What I was sent here to do. We have learnt some valuable lessons, and I am eager to implement a number of changes that will ensure we do not suffer casualties when and if this happens again.”

  Taylor laughed for a moment, but his expression soon became stern.

  “If you think you can win a war without taking losses, you are in for a shock.”

  “What do you want from me, Colonel? Tell me.”

  “I need to get out there. We need to get out there. My team and I, and the fleet of warships you have at your disposal.”

  “They will remain in position to protect this station as they were ordered.

  “But you don’t need us. We’ll go. You can manage just fine without us.”

  “And lose the Navarin? She’s barely refitted and back in action. You want me to give up one of our best ships of the line for some…what? Hunting trip?”

  Taylor could see he wasn’t getting anywhere. He desperately tried to think of something.

  We need to get in the fight.

  “Give me the Guam.”

  Wright coughed at the thought of it and had to reach forward for a glass of water to clear his throat.

  “The Guam? She is a wreck. Patched up and suitable as a support vessel yes, but nothing compared to the Navarin.”

  “Then you can afford to lose her, can’t you?”

  He said nothing, but Taylor advanced and put his hands down, leaning forward over the desk in an intimidating fashion. It made the Captain uncomfortable.

  “Look, Captain. I am going. I need a ship to take me, and I am sure the Guam will be more than happy to have us. I am going either way. So you can authorise it, or you can refuse and look like a total ass when we go anyway.”

  The Captain looked past him to Jones and Alita as if expecting some support from them, but he soon realised Taylor was not bluffing.

  “Okay…okay. Take the Guam. But please get a message out from Earth. The status of the Alliance, the whereabouts of the President, and our orders.”

  “We’ll do what we can, but you’re gonna have to buck up and do some of the work yourselves. You have many means of communication, use them.”

  With that, he up and left.

  “Did you really have to grill him so hard?” Alita asked, as the door shut behind them.

  “He’s a good officer, but he wasn’t ready for this command.”

  “Do you think he can rise to the task?”

  “We’ll soon find out. I reckon he’ll find his balls soon enough.”

  * * *

  The door of their craft lowered, and Taylor was glad to see the welcoming face of Captain Song as she smiled upon making eye contact. Welding torches flashed either side of them as crews continued to carry out maintenance. There was no ceremony to welcome them aboard, only the Captain herself.

  "Welcome home," she said as he approached.

  It was a nice feeling. Taylor looked around at the well used and battle worn vessel. It was certainly more home to him than anywhere else felt anymore. He reached forward and shook Song's hand.

  "Glad to have you back, but I thought a man with your reputation could get his hands on one of the flag ships of the fleet by now."

  "Yeah, you'd think so, but the fact is nobody knows what the fuck is going on. Wright is staying put. He's been tasked with protecting that station, and he’s already had a nasty taste of things to come. He is just holding on to what he's got."

  "And us? What are we to do?"

  Taylor smiled.

  "You didn't think we were going to lay about doing nothing, did you, Captain?"

  "Not for a minute, Sir."

  "Then fire up those engines. It's time to go hunting."

  "What is our destination?"

  "Anywhere that the enemy is."

  "Yes, Sir," she replied confidently.

  Taylor could see the crew were just glad to be doing something. They were already battle hardened from the many missions they had taken part in with Taylor. Every one of them was familiar with his commitment to fight on the frontline, and confident he would look after them just the same as he would his own Immortals.

  "Initiate jump to Gateway 12."

  She looked at Taylor to explain.

  "From there we'll get reports from all over. It's the go-to hub for emergency frequencies."

  Taylor nodded in appreciation, for he had no idea.

  "Prepare to jump...jump."

  Their stomachs turned as they always did, but a few seconds later they appeared in a nebula like portal. He glanced at Jones, and he seemed as much in the dark as he was.

  For once it’s nice to know I’m not the only one.

  "No contacts."

  The Captain looked surprised.

  "What were you expecting to find?"

  "Something, Colonel. Some fleet or ships gathering on their way to assist where they are needed."

  "Are you sure you have the right coordinates?"

  "Positive."

  Th
ere was silence as everyone waited for news from the navigation teams.

  "I'm picking up a distress beacon."

  Taylor was relieved they had finally made contact of some sort.

  "Wait...more than one. I've got five, no..."

  Oh, shit!

  He saw the look of fear on Jones' face, but the not knowing and uncertainty of their situation made it worse.

  "Captain, we have seventeen distress beacons."

  Song turned to Taylor for answers.

  "Where do we go? Which one do we help? There should be fleets of vessels here to respond to these, but there is only us."

  Taylor sighed.

  "Whom do we assist?" she asked again.

  They all knew how tough a call it was. They were the blunt instruments that could turn the tide at one location, but condemn all the others to make it on their own.

  "Do we prioritise military targets, civilian? What?" Song asked.

  Taylor shook his head.

  "Identify the largest enemy force, because that's where we are going."

  They all knew how calculating a decision that was. It was a tough call, but nobody questioned it. Song nodded for her navigation team to do as Taylor had asked, and it wasn't long before one of them came back with a hurried answer.

  "Sir, the shipyards on Ulsan are reporting heavy enemy presence in orbit and on the surface of the planet."

  "Ulsan?" Taylor asked.

  "Previously known as Gliese 581 d, I believe."

  "Is that supposed to mean something to me, Jones?"

  He smiled. He had forgotten how simplistic and lacking Taylor's knowledge of their existence really was.

  "Ulsan is home to the largest shipyards in the Alliance. In fact, there is little else there. It is an industrial world. Bleak, barren, and absolutely essential," added Song.

  "Who operates it?"

  "Mostly government assets crewed by a mix of Human and Krys workers."

  The communications officer, Osborne butted in before they could continue.

  "Sir, one of the distress beacons."

  "What of it?"

  "...Civilians, fifteen thousand souls aboard the transport Liberation."

  All eyes turned to Taylor. It took him just a few seconds to respond.