Valkyrie Rising (Warrior's Wings Book Two) (17 page)

They nodded, and Ton spoke up. Apparently, he’d won the right to be their spokesman,
probably by beating the rest of them down
.

“We’ve all been operational with each other at one point or another,” he said. “Most of us have had applications into the USF for years as well.”

That didn’t surprise her in the least. The USF enjoyed a massive level of interest across the board. Any position they offered was always swamped with applicants. From pilots to researchers to soldiers, the USF always had more applicants than it could afford to hire. She knew she’d been lucky to be chosen when she had, though the debacle on Hayden certainly put that luck into perspective.

“All right, so what do you want to know?” she said before popping some fries in her mouth.

“We’ve been briefed, as I said, but what are these things really like?”

Sorilla was quiet for a moment, taking another drink and thinking it over. Finally she just shook her head. “You know...I’m not sure I can say.”

“What kind of answer is that?” a guy in a basic black SAS sweater demanded.

“The only one I can give. I’m pretty damned sure that we didn’t tangle with their military,” she explained. “At least, not by the time I got there.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No. I wish I were,” she told them. “I’m pretty sure that our initial contacts were all worker drones. Robotic bulldozers and the like. We didn’t see combat chassis until we started sabotaging their work.”

“Makes sense,” Ton grumbled, though he was frowning. “What about the initial invasion?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Colonists reports conflicted, no one saw anything anyway, so the best I can do there is make a few guesses.”

“So guess.”

The others around the table nodded in agreement, leaning in. They’d take what they could get, especially from an experienced eye on the ground.

“Ultrasonic frequencies, tuned to trip every ‘run for your life’ switch you’ve got,” she said seriously. “Use your armor to filter it out. Some of the colonists’ reports seem to indicate advanced stealth at first, but I didn’t see any sign of it when I went in. I think that was actually an example of their gravity tech in action, making it seem like there were things in the area people couldn’t see.”

She paused, thinking about the things she’d seen. “At first, I also thought they used environmental energy converters, which would account for the sudden chill you feel around the base…but I think that’s the sonics again, and more a nervous reaction than actual cold.”

“What about the actual aliens?”

“Two types, at least,” she said. “Big, furry meat shield type, looks mean but dumb as a post, and a smaller, frail-looking Roswell grey alien type. They don’t talk, don’t make any sounds I’ve been able to find in my recordings, but they seem to be in charge.”

One of the men, in an Army Rangers uniform, grimaced and let his head thump to the table. “You mean the probe-happy aliens are real? Aw man.”

Sorilla chuckled. “I never let them get ahold me to find out.”

The men around the table laughed, some agreeing that was probably the best plan.

“Seriously, though, they do have some combat drones, but I’m almost certain that I only saw their light units,” she said after things had calmed down. “There’s tons of things that make no sense about what I saw, and very few things that do.”

“Light units with nuclear bombs, lovely.” Ton grimaced.

“That’s not quite it,” she corrected him. “It’s the enemy’s gravity valve tech that gives them nuclear response capability. That’s from a central firebase, or a ship, not the light drones.”

“Well, that’s something, at least. It’s still a bloody hazard to one’s health, I say,” the British SBS man grumbled from farther down the table.

“You could put it that way, yeah,” Sorilla answered with a grin. “Still, there’s something to be said about dodging nuclear strikes every time you make a move…”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“It sucks,” Sorilla returned dryly.

The table laughed, getting attention from the rest of the room, but Sorilla just leaned in and got serious. If this group wanted details, she’d dig in and find some for them. Anything was better than what happened to her last team, and without the right intel, that was just as likely what these guys would be facing.

*****

USF forward operating base

Hayden

Hayden had many attractions as a planet, being the closest to Earth-normal of any world discovered in all human-controlled space, but when compared to worlds like Ares, with its nearly unlimited quantities of rare earth metals, or even Atlantis and the incredible biological wealth of that world’s oceans, Hayden often seemed to come off second best in the number cruncher’s balance sheets. Even so, the planet was consistently profitable after only two solid generations and exported a significant portion of the Earth’s medical pharmaceuticals. What Hayden was most well-known for, however ironic it may be, was its food exports.

While not digestible by humans, there were several Hayden-born plants that were completely nontoxic and surprisingly tasty to the human palate, which led to Hayden produce being in some of the most popular diets on Earth. The dream of people in the Western world since the mid- to late-twentieth century: eat all you want and lose weight in the process.

Even Hayden-born sometimes partook for many of the same reasons, though the good-tasting product had become something of a ugly joke among the colonists in the years since the invasion forced them away from their colony. To have some of the most sought after luxury foods in all of human-controlled space in near unlimited quantity and still be on the brink of starvation seemed like some cruel joke of the gods.

As the USF presence began to be felt, first with Sorilla and later the supplies left to them by the doomed Taskforce Three, and finally with the arrival of the relief force that now occupied the coastal base near the old beta site, the joke faded, but the taste of the local food still came off a little bitter in most of their mouths. It was still served, however, to supplement the sometimes bland flavor of the flash-grown foodstuff from military nutrient vats.

It was for this reason alone that a group of civilians were combing the river bank, harvesting some of the tastier plants as well as some of the very few that humans could absorb at least some nutrition from, when the bloodied form of Jerry Reed fell from the jungle and collapsed.

A scream went out from the woman he almost fell on, bringing everyone else, including over a dozen heavily armed soldiers. They called in emergency response, and five days after his own blade had been driven into his guts, Jerry Reed rode the last kilometer to base cocooned in the protective embrace of a small robotic field ambulance.

Back at the base, the word spread quickly, moving faster than the field ambulance could manage, despite the edict against transmissions. Field phones had been installed all around the area, linked by fiber-optic cables. All someone had to do was reach one of the hidden phones and call it in, so by the time Jerry arrived at the base, there was a crash team waiting, including several colonists and the general himself.

Kayne watched the action from a distance as the pathfinder was examined in place, the robotic ambulance converting automatically to a clunky but functional gurney that chased the doctors into the medical facilities, as it had been programmed to.

God damn it. I was planning on reading Lieutenant Brecker the riot act for being late this time. What the hell happened out there?

His thoughts immediately went to the other teams in the field. Two of them were slightly overdue, and now he had reason to start worrying. 
That boy looked like he’d been through the grinder. Probably slogged for days to get back here, so even taking his injuries into account…

Kayne pivoted, heading back into the base and directly toward the command center, where he had the estimated locations of patrols plotted.

The computer system still had them onscreen, and Kayne leaned over the table with his hands planted widely for balance. Somewhere out there, someone or something had obviously nailed one of his patrols. That meant that the others were at risk as well, and the only hope he had of getting more information was buried in a wounded man’s head. That meant he was fighting blind and didn’t even have a way to contact and coordinate his squads.

Kayne grimaced, baring his teeth in an impotent snarl.

Time to make a call.

He debated it for a moment then slammed his fists down on the table and marched across the hall to the very quiet room next door. Inside, there was one man sitting at a console, looking bored as he listened to something on a pair of headphones. Kayne stopped behind his back and calmly reached out to touch the man’s shoulder.

Corporal Savez was one of the best com men in the business, but he was a little high-strung, as he proved when he nearly went through the ceiling from that simple touch. He landed on his feet, one hand on his chest as he spun around.

“Jesus! Don’t
do
that…uh…” He swallowed hard, staring at the general. “Sir?”

“I need a message coded and sent.”

“Right. I’ll get it ready for the next pass of the satellite…” Savez mumbled. “The laser is ready to go.”

“No. Not the laser. Pulse transmission, encrypted, scrambled, wide band.”

Savez’s eyes widened. “Sir? That’s against your standing orders.”

“I know. What can you do to minimize the risk to us, here?”

The corporal’s jaw worked for a bit. “You’re serious, sir?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Right. Ok, balloon.”

Kayne waited, but it quickly became clear that none was forthcoming. “Son, I need a bit more than that.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Savez blurted in a rush. “It’s like this, sir. We get a transmit package, lash it to one of the weather balloons we keep here. Have some guys take it out to sea or upriver a few dozen klicks, fill it with hydrogen and let it loose. Once it’s up a few thousand feet, we bing it with a laser and it sends whatever we want. Can’t be traced back here. Won’t help the guys in the field, though, unless they’ve got portable laser coms and can get a line of sight.”

Kayne stared for a long moment, mind wrapping around that idea. “Why are you only mentioning this to me now, Corporal?”

Savez looked a little embarrassed. “Honestly, sir, I’ve been pretty bored here. That’s just one of the doodles I’ve been mocking up to pass the time.”

The general glowered at the young man but didn’t say anything beyond a curt, “Get it done.”

Savez looked surprised for a moment. “Sir?”

“Yesterday!”

“Yes, sir!”

Kayne watched him run off and grumbled to himself as he headed back for the command center. For an idea so simple, he’d love to know why no one suggested it long ago. 
Probably because no one in the service has fought a war without satellite support in over a century.

He opened up his personal notepad on the table when he arrived in the command center and made a note to issue portable laser coms to all the patrols.

Now, with all that set in motion, Kayne headed for the medical rooms to see what the docs had to say about Jerry. He really hoped the pathfinder pulled through, for more reasons than he could count.

Jerry was probably the most experienced pathfinder they had, and he was well-known and respected among the locals. Losing him would be a big hit to the colonists’ morale, and that was something they could ill afford. Beyond all that, though, Kayne wanted…no, he
needed
to know what the hell happened out there in the jungle.

Wake up, Reed. You ain’t done with this world yet.

*****

Hayden Jungle

Northeast of USF basecamp

Kriss was far from pleased with the start of his current mission. He’d lost two men, one of whom to the stupidity of bumbling into the enemy camp like a pack of fools. The second loss had been just as stupid. Chasing a local into an environment he knew and you didn’t was a violation of more tenants of war than he could recall at first blush.

That said, he still had the majority of his squad, and they’d met the enemy and gotten their measure over the last few days. After tracking down another two of the units and eliminating them, Kriss wasn’t particularly impressed.

Oh, they were on par with most Alliance worlds’ militaries, but they weren’t going to give the Sentinels a serious challenge.

Their weapons were outdated tech but still lethal enough to take on any light to medium ground and air units in use in the Alliance, but he just wasn’t seeing the threat DevCorps was screaming about. EM weapons and radio gear weren’t going to stand up to gravetic bolters and warp coms, even if the troop were as good as the Sentinels. He couldn’t evaluate their starship technology, but the light brief he’d received said basically the same thing.

Low performance technology, at least a century behind anything the Alliance used, skill on par with Alliance regulars at best. They’d torn up some DevCorps mercenaries and did a job on the support ships, but those were hardly active duty naval units or soldiers.

Give them a century or so and they’ll be a threat, maybe, assuming we stand still,
he thought idly, composing his report. 
And there’s no chance in hell of that happening.

It didn’t change anything as far as his current assignment went, but Kriss figured that there was no point in sounding the alarm all across Alliance Space over something like this. A couple squadrons of navy units would be enough to put an iron lock on this system, then bring in the DiploCorp. If the race was remotely sane, it would be over in a few weeks of talking, and DevCorps would have their world to develop.

That just left him with the problem of securing the local area so DevCorps could plant one of their DSDs again, this time a frontline model intended for combat coverage of a disputed planet instead of one of the lower cost, single-core models.