Authors: Christopher Nuttall
The enemy had planned a robust defence of the spaceport, she realised, as she motioned for her troops to spread out. They’d clearly pre-targeted every square metre of the spaceport because the mortar fire was already coming down among the shuttles with terrifying accuracy. Normally, the shuttles would take off as soon as possible, but the raider pilots didn't seem to be up to the task. She saw one of them explode in a fireball that took out two more, then led her charges to cover. The whole situation was rapidly turning into a colossal cluster-fuck.
Professionalism took over. “I want KEW strikes on those mortars,” she barked. She understood the raider reluctance to fire KEWs into the spaceport – or too close to their own troops – but at this rate the entire landing force was going to be wiped out. “Silence those bastards.”
The ground shook, violently. Jess saw a colossal fireball rising up from the other side of the spaceport where, she hoped, the mortars had been concealed. The incoming fire slacked off, although it didn't stop completely. It took three more KEW strikes to take out the remaining mortars.
She assessed her resources quickly, cursing – once again – the sheer inefficiency of the raider command network. Marines would have organised themselves by now, even if their commanding officers had been killed. There were seventy raiders on the ground; seventy, from an attack force that had been nearly a thousand strong. She couldn't tell if the remainder were dead, cowering in the shuttles or AWOL. If the latter, they’d be dead soon enough, if they were collared. Not all of her subordinates wore a collar.
Once she had her force organised, she called in two more KEW strikes and then led the advance into where the enemy had been. Danger close strikes – strikes targeted near to friendly positions – were always hazardous, but she saw no alternative. Thankfully, the shock had smashed the enemy lines, allowing her to drive into them and force them to retreat. A handful of the enemy soldiers clearly had combat experience of their own; they left booby traps and primed grenades in their wake as they retreated, trying to bleed the raiders still further. Very few of them were taken alive.
It took nearly thirty minutes of hard fighting to clear the path to the warehouses on the edge of the spaceport. Jess wondered just why the spare parts, destined for the Colonial Militia, were deemed worth stealing. They’d bring in money if sold on the black market, she knew, but hardly enough to keep the raider fleet operating. If the objective was to weaken the Colonial Militia, the warehouses and the spaceport could have been destroyed from orbit ...
She shook her head as the heavy-lift shuttles began to land. There was no time for speculation. All that mattered was getting the shuttles loaded and back into the air ...
... But she couldn't help wondering just what she’d become. If she was assisting the raiders, had she become a raider herself?
***
“Objective taken,” Dana reported. “That new girl is worth her weight in gold.”
Jason
nodded. He’d assumed that Major Finley could handle the relatively simple task of landing his forces and taking the spaceport, but Finley had screwed up by the numbers. The lunatic might have managed to regain control, if he hadn't been killed in the first missile strikes. His command network had almost shattered in the wake of his death, allowing more missiles to strike home and hammer the shuttles. Nearly six hundred men had been killed before they'd even touched the planet’s surface.
He didn't have any experience commanding anything larger than a platoon
, his thoughts reminded him, mockingly.
You promoted him too far too fast
.
“Start loading up the shuttles,” he ordered. There would be time to reward and promote the newcomer later. “Time is running out.”
If there was one advantage about working for the raiders, Jess decided, it was that she was authorised to use deadly force if her subordinates refused to obey. Marine commanders never had to shoot their own men in the field, unless it was a mercy killing. But anyone who had survived Boot Camp would know how to obey orders, particularly in combat. Looking at the raider troops, she was reminded – again – that most of them had never seen
any
action at all.
“Women,” one of them carolled. “I found women!”
Jess scowled. She was far too aware that evacuation plans and exercises always left out the emergency, but leaving a couple of dozen people cowering in the spaceport terminal was just plain stupid. Most of them appeared to be spaceport workers, rather than civilians or defenders. Maybe they’d just seen the troops outside and hidden, unsure just who was setting up to defend the spaceport. Or maybe they were just idiots.
“Don’t hurt them, just get them over to the warehouses,” she ordered, shortly. She was
not
going to become a party to rape, as well as murder. “I want them helping us to load up the shuttles.”
The pirates who found the women looked rebellious when they pushed the workers into view. Two of the women looked to have been molested; one of their male companions had a black eye and a broken arm. Jess scowled, hefted her rifle, and shot the senior raider through the head. His former subordinates stared at her in utter shock; they were used to their superiors giving them
carte blanche
to play with prisoners, not defending them from their captors.
“Get to work,” Jess snarled, daring one of them to make a move. He met her eyes, then carefully lowered the pistol he’d been raising to point at her. “They’re going to be needed here.”
The pallets inside the warehouse were standardised – the Bottleneck Republic, thankfully, had copied the Federation’s standardised procedures – but few of the pirates knew anything about actually loading the shuttles. Finding the spaceport workers had been a blessing in disguise for the raiders, Jess realised sourly; it was simple enough to get them to do the hard work, while the raiders just kept a wary eye on them. But there was no way to know what had been loaded into each crate. The manifests had vanished along with the spaceport computer network.
Not my problem
, Jess decided, as the first shuttle took off and clawed into orbit. It would be docked, then unloaded once the fleet entered hyperspace.
It might delay them before they launch a second raid.
The defenders seemed to have fallen back completely, she decided, in some relief. She hadn't wanted to engage the locals any further, not if it could be avoided. They’d probably decided that there was no point in trying to prevent the raiders from loading up the shuttles and gone to ground. No doubt there would be ambushes aplenty if the raiders headed for the city, but she knew that there was no intention of trying. All they wanted was the goods in the warehouse.
She scowled as a second shuttle took off. Whatever else happened, she’d become an accessory to mass slaughter, planetary invasion and looting on a grand scale. The Captain had given them permission to do whatever they had to do to blend in, but she knew that the Marine Corps would take a long hard look at her activities once she returned home. And, if the politicians became involved, it would become impossible to predict the outcome. There were few politicians who really understood the choices that had to be made by those on the front line.
“One of the girls is growing tired,” a raider muttered. “We could find a use for her that involves her lying down ...”
“You fucking halfwit,” Jess snapped. It was distressingly easy to slip into the raider persona. “The feds could wave a naked whore at you and you’d walk right into jail!”
She glared at the raider until he shrank back, unwilling to meet her gaze. Quite apart from any moral or ethical considerations, there was just no time to let down their guard. If her homeworld was any indication, the locals would throw caution to the winds and attack if they believed that women were being raped. God knew that sort of over-protectiveness had always got on her nerves when she’d been a little girl, but it did come in handy at times. But now, she didn't want to have to kill some colonials who merely wanted to protect their womenfolk. She didn't want to have to kill anyone at all.
One by one, the shuttles were loaded. Jess took one final look at the warehouse, then motioned for the prisoners to remain inside and led her men back to the assault shuttles, pretending to ignore the muttering from some of the younger men – or the itching between her shoulder blades. It was easy to guess what stories they'd been told; they’d do a little fighting, then have their way with the women while the town burned to death around them. She gritted her teeth in irritation, remembering a brief stint at Boot Camp before her promotion. The Marines normally knocked such delusions out of their recruits before allowing them to qualify as new Marines. But the raiders didn't want to have soldiers who actually
thought
.
She pushed her men onto the shuttle, then muttered a command to the pilot. The shuttle, thankfully, had been designed for hard landings, even though she’d been on planetary assault missions that had included gentler landings. It powered up and leapt towards the edge of the atmosphere, then darted out into space. Jess refused to allow herself to relax. Once they were back onboard the ships and in hyperspace,
then
she would relax. And maybe Sandy would have some idea what to do next.
***
“Commodore,” Dana said formally, “all shuttles have withdrawn from the surface.”
“Excellent,”
Jason said. He studied the display, thinking hard. They’d taken a battering from the defenders, but luckily his forces had railed and taken the spaceport intact. And they’d picked up most of the supplies too. “Take out the spaceport.”
“Yes, sir,” the tactical officer said. A moment later, a KEW dropped down through the planet’s atmosphere and struck the spaceport. It vanished in a colossal explosion. “Target destroyed.”
New icons appeared on the display. “Enemy contacts,” Dana snapped. “Seven starships, all Colonial Militia; I say again ...”
“I heard,” Jason interrupted. “Give me a breakdown.”
He glared down at the icons as they took on shape and form. Two escort carriers, two light cruisers and three destroyers, the carriers already launching their starfighters. He had the firepower advantage, but all they had to do was disable his ships and he’d be stranded. Given the sheer bravado of the attack on Xenophon, the Colonial Militia had to be hopping mad. Their comfortable assumptions about just what sort of targets the raiders wouldn't hit had been proved spectacularly wrong. No doubt there was a hell of a lot more firepower racing towards Xenophon.
“Pull us away from the planet,” he ordered. There was nothing to be gained from exchanging blows with the Colonial Militia, not now. Besides, even if they won, they'd be battered and vulnerable to whatever else was coming. The Bottleneck Squadron might also be on the way and there was no way his force could stand up to a single superdreadnaught or fleet carrier. “And then take us into hyperspace as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” Dana said. “Do you wish to hammer the planet before we leave?”
Jason considered it. He was
furious
at just how effectively the planet had resisted, despite losing their orbital battlestation before it could fire a shot. Part of him wanted to bombard the planet to dust and ashes. But he knew that there was no time to indulge himself. Besides, the longer they stayed in orbit, the greater the chance of losing a ship or two to the enemy fleet.
“No,” he said, finally. “Take us out of here.”
Dana looked disappointed, but the remainder of his bridge crew looked relieved. None of them liked the thought of coming to blows with either the Colonial Militia or the Federation Navy. Even though they outnumbered the enemy, there was too great a chance of taking serious damage. And if they did bombard the planet indiscriminately, they could expect no mercy from either foe.
He sat back in his command chair as the squadron pulled away from the planet. They’d captured most of the supplies they wanted, so they could keep the squadron operating for a while without Mr. Ford, if necessary. And they’d broadcast the message Mr. Ford had ordered, as well as taking out the refugee camp and proving themselves a serious opponent by taking out the battlestation.
That
trick wouldn't work more than once, he knew, but it would make one hell of an impact. The Colonial Militia would have to make some hard choices about which worlds to protect ...