Tommy Thorn Marked (22 page)

“Copy that, sir,” the major said, again not turning to make eye contact, and sent scramble codes to the designated squadron’s ready rooms.

Five miles beneath the mountain range, and hundreds of feet below Stone Wood’s giant command and control center, pilots and launch crews scrambled from briefing rooms. Fighter pilots to their assigned virtual cockpits, attack pilots, gunners, and ground personnel to assault shuttles—all standing by in underground hanger bays.

Unlike the Tarchein, the Vargins had not perfected the design and implementation of lightweight inertial dampening systems. Subsequently, they had opted to equip their fighter force with unmanned, remotely piloted aircraft, as manned designs would have been grossly outmaneuvered by Imperial pilots unencumbered by high-G forces. Their assault transports, however, along with several other combat types, had maintained pilots and crews, as those operational demands were much less severe.

Within minutes, selected portions of the mountain range above Stone Wood came alive as a number of heavy, rock-covered steel doors slid open, allowing small brown-black fighters to stream into the night sky, much like frightened bats that had been rudely aroused from a peaceful slumber…

Decker slid in beside Sloan as the rest of the team took up concealed positions around a makeshift perimeter. Their heavily armored commando suits’ adaptive camouflage made it nearly impossible to make out their shadowy black forms.

“All set, LT,” Decker said.

In the darkness, Sloan could not see the grin that he knew was always on the Volarian’s face. “You take the point, have Nadir’s team move out to the right flank, standard wedge. Qda will take the other fire team down the left side. I want every swinging D back in those hills, and sniper tripods deployed by zero five thirty.”

Decker checked his wristcomm and nodded.

“Move out,” Sloan said. Then putting a gloved hand on the first sergeant’s shoulder, he added, “and be careful, Deck.”

Sergeant Decker took a moment to raise his visor, allowing Sloan to see the confidence evident within his wide-set, clear, almond-colored eyes. “Will do, Lieutenant.”

The sergeant then closed his visor, activated his helmet’s night vision mode, and disappeared silently into the darkness…

Imperial Fleet Admiral Kada looked up from the latest positional reports, handed Colonel Franza the datapad, and dismissed him with a casual wave of his hand. Having grown weary of border disputes, pirates, and the occasional subduing of an ill-equipped rebel uprising, he longed for an opportunity to lead a glorious full-scale invasion, and he felt that the Vargus system would satisfy that need very nicely.

Of course, there had been the endless diplomatic pleadings for a peaceful inclusion into the Empire, but these had been rejected outright by the CFP. So great was their misplaced trust in what the Tarchein high command, and Admiral Kada, considered to be a woefully inadequate space force combined with suspected sub-par planetary defense systems, all of which were built around and in support of the coalition’s isolationist policies.

The fourteen-member so-called Coalition of Free Planets, of which Vargus was the capital, had indeed developed planetary defenses, but nothing the Empire could not easily dispatch. Of this, Kada was quite certain.

Aboard the super cruiser Victory, in the seclusion of his ready room, Kada eased back in his reclined command couch to admire his brilliantly conceived battle plan. The entire invasion was intricately displayed on a large, incredibly detailed holographic projection of Vargus, allowing the Imperial fleet admiral, as he watched the lifelike globe slowly rotate, to imagine the glorious accolades that awaited his triumphant return to Tarchein. Twelve full battle groups, which included seven super cruisers and thirteen battle cruisers—he let his mind wrap around the precision of the converging fleet of starships.
Glorious, simply glorious
, he thought and allowed his thin lips to form a broad, uncustomary smile.

Decker moved cautiously, suit sensors tweaked to maximum settings across the board. The wide-open plain seemed harmless enough, but he had seen team members die in much more subdued surroundings. His fire team had traveled only about a mile when, while kneeling to take a bearing, he became aware of a very slight whirling sound.

What is that?
he thought.
Maybe a suit fan going bad
.
No
. He tilted his helmeted head.
It’s drifting,
Decker thought and moving very slowly, twisted his body until a tiny hovering disk came into focus.

Floating about two feet from his shielded face, it was not much larger than an insect and would have been almost undetectable without his visor’s optical enhancements. But it wasn’t a heat source that gave it away
. No IR reading…odd, it must be
spinning though
, he thought, although it did not look to be moving at all.

Decker cautiously reached out his hand, but whatever it was just darted a few inches out of reach, only to stabilize in a new position. And then he remembered something from the intel briefings. “LT, I think we got a problem…”

Commissar Oden-Car studied the image of the helmeted head of a Tarchein warrior, now being displayed on a full one-quarter of the big board, and smiled broadly. Within seconds, positional data being relayed from the tiny mech-stalker had been transferred to the tactical overhead view, pinpointing what the Vargus commander now knew was to be the invasion’s landing zone for the southern hemisphere.

“We have the location of the invasion,” Oden-Car’s voice boomed over the imbedded amphitheater’s speakers. He let the elation of the moment soak in before continuing, “Deploy your forces…”

“Listen up, Cats,” Commander Wagner said over the excited chatter of the squadron’s ready room.

“Knock it off!” the XO said, turning to the mostly seated group.

Wagner waited for all eyes to settle on him. “Our battle group will be coming out of hyper in three point four. That puts us, backs in straps, and ready to lunch in just under three hours—plan accordingly.”

Tommy’s tacnav tapped his datapad and nodded. He knew they would be locked and loaded.
One of the nice things about having a second crewman,
he thought, especially one who had flown in combat.

The CO brought up a projection of Vargus, then zoomed in on the southern hemisphere. “We’re going in before the transport barges,” he said, then paused. “Our job is to make sure the LZ stays cold, so I don’t want any of you messing with their Venoms. Besides, those things are quick and deadly. Not to mention that their pilot’s probably somewhere drinking a cold brindle while your butt is hanging out in the wind.” The CO paused to let the nervous laughter die down. “A Rapier’s no match for ’em. The T-darts will handle the CAP. Got it?”

The squadron pilots and tacnavs reluctantly acknowledged their skipper, but to a man, they had all hoped for a chance at a kill. Combat air patrols were a sought after mission for fighter pilots.
Damn T-darts
, Tommy thought.

“Tacs, check your load-outs,” Wagner continued. “We’ll only be carrying fins, leave the fireballs at home. Brass says there’s no way these guys come spaceside. They’re geared strictly for defending the mud.”

“But, sir,” a young tacnav protested.

The distinguished-looking Martian looked toward the back of the room for the source of the objection. “No fireballs, Ensign Sanma—clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the ensign responded dryly.

Sanma voiced what they all felt, and Wagner knew it. He didn’t like the idea ether, but orders were orders.

“Okay, double-check your pads, then check them again. We get in, cover the drop, and get home—no heroes.” Wagner again paused. “Thorn, Cruiser, Bo…”

All three looked up from their datapads.

“No heroes,” Wagner said and smiled.

“Yes, sir,” they all said together.

“Check the board for flight assignments, stay calm, do your job—there are a lot of mud-movers and boots counting on us, so let’s get it right” Wagner said and snapped off the projection before stepping down from the small stage at the front of the room.

“All rise!” the XO shouted while coming to attention.

Flight crews slid out of their padded chairs and came to attention as Commander Wagner passed down the center aisle, only to stop briefly at the secured rear hatch, and turned to face their backs. “Nobody dies today!” he said, hitting the hatch release. “Not today.”

The hatch slid closed with a muffled thud, but no one moved.

The XO waited just long enough to ensure the CO was gone before he turned and snorted, “Well, dismissed!”

Tommy’s tacnav, Rahagin, laid three meaty fingers on his shoulder. “You doing all right, Thorn?”

Tommy looked up from his datapad and smiled. The reptilian looks of the Dipole had thrown him at first, but now, after months of training flights, Tommy could think of no one else he would rather have riding in the backseat. “Fine, sir.”

“Knock off that sir stuff, Tommy. It’s just you and me, together—all the way.”

“All the way,” Tommy repeated.

The lieutenant showed his teeth in approval, and waited for Tommy to gather his gear before heading toward the hatch. “I think we have time to hit early mess.”