Valkyrie Rising (Warrior's Wings Book Two) (21 page)

Her goal wasn’t a series of impressive numbers in her routine, but rather a fast and explosive completion of the total workout in about five minutes. Then she’d relax and do armor sync exercising for the next hour or so before another five minutes of heavy work to prime her muscles. It was an old adage, but working smarter instead of stronger had become the motto of SF training over the decades. It was especially important since the mental requirements for the job had increased exponentially as technical expertise continually trumped field craft.

Oh, knowing how to live in the jungle, or the desert, or anywhere else was still of vital importance. You had to know all the tricks from the Stone Age, all the tricks from the Bronze and Iron Age, all the tricks from the age of gun powder…but you couldn’t stop there. Now you needed to know all the tricks from the Digital and Nano Ages as well. If training methods hadn’t adapted along with the times, there was simply no way anyone could cram that much information and experience into a single lifetime…not even one that had been adjusted for increased duration through modern medicine.

High-intensity burst workouts were proven to be on par with longer repetitions over longer time. The muscles used kept working long after you’d stopped, so it was possible to be as fit as humanely possible while spending only a fraction the time it used to take maintaining. Combined with military tweaks, like Sorilla’s implants adjusting her hormone and bio-chem levels, Sorilla had crammed years of workout results into a few months and was now back at the top of her game.

She had been for a couple weeks, in fact, and was now just relaxing into a holding pattern while she waited for Fleet to get off its ass and give her an assignment. She was ready, damn it.

As she’d been prone to do with increasing frequency over the last month, Sorilla pinged her official messages queue for any new entries, preparing again to be disappointed. This time, however, she was greeted by a single line with her MSIN in the header.

She almost lost her balance during a deep knee bend, catching herself in time as she examined the message closer and finally smiled.

How nice of them to finally wake up and get their backsides in gear.

For Master Sergeant Sorilla Aida, it was time to go back to work.

*****

USF Cheyenne

Holding station at Alamo shipyards

“Priority Fleet com, Admiral.”

“Thank you, Denise,” Nadine Brookes said as she drifted over to her station and keyed in her decrypt.

The message was short and to the point, leaving her to ponder it for only a moment before she opened a com to the bridge.

“Yes, Admiral?” Captain Patrick Roberts asked almost instantly.

“Have the Alamo crews finished clearing the Cheyenne?”

“Yes, ma’am, but the rest of the squadron…”

“That’s fine, Captain. I just need the Cheyenne. Have the other squadron captains stay on-station here, but prepare the Cheyenne to a short run to Earth.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Patrick acknowledged.

She closed the com and turned back to her station, rereading the message.

“Anything important, Admiral?” Denise asked as she arrived with a sealed container of coffee.

“I suspect that we’re going to be redeployed,” she told her aide, taking the aluminum mug and sipping idly on the bite valve.

“Another sighting?” Denise asked, concerned.

“Not specifically, no.” Nadine shrugged. “And they didn’t say, but these orders read like they’re preparing for something big.”

“Hayden, then,” Denise said calmly.

“Likely,” Nadine agreed. “Unless they’ve located an enemy system of greater value, Hayden is the only place we can tie up significant forces on the enemy’s side of things. They’ve shown far too much interest in that planet already. Better to keep their interest focused than to let them get too curious about where our forces are centralized.”

“That works both ways.”

“True.” Nadine nodded grimly. “However, for the moment, at least, we simply don’t have the forces to go looking anyway.”

“Also true,” her aide sighed, drifting over to her station and logging in.

“What are you up to?”

“I need to see if the special orders I made are en route or if I can redirect them to the New Mexico counterweight. If not, I’ll have the Hood pick them up and transship later.”

“I don’t want to know,” Nadine said dryly.

“You never do, ma’am.”

*****

USF offices, Level Two

New Mexico tether counterweight

Sorilla looked around the large room, noting the faces carefully. She recognized most of them from Level Three, mostly representing first world militaries. She wasn’t surprised by that, however, judging from the large planetary image on the screen at the front of the room.

Hayden.

If they were going back to Hayden, it made sense that most of the new teams would be from first world-aligned nations. Hayden was a joint discovery of an American and British expedition, and while there had never been any formal restrictions on immigration, the planet was still populated primarily by people who could trace back to those roots.

“As the more astronomically minded of you have probably divined from the image on the screen,” General Craig Zimm made his presence known abruptly, “we’re preparing another expedition to Hayden. New reports have arrived via a picket drone that seem to show a new force making a move on Hayden. Unlike the previous occupation, this group appears to be proactive. They’re in the jungle, hunting down our patrol units.”

Sorilla sat up straight, attention focused forward with laser intensity. That was a massive shift from the previous operational standard the aliens had shown. They didn’t chase people into the jungle; it went against everything she knew about their SOP.

The image on the wall screen flickered, showing a blurred image of a humanoid form standing against a dark background.

“With a lot of work, we managed to process this image, among others, retrieved from deceased soldiers’ implants,” the general said, “and this is the result.”

A computer-generated image appeared, showing a stocky alien with greyish skin and strange-looking hands. Sorilla had to stare for a moment before she realized that the creature seemed to have two thumbs, one on either side of three thick fingers. It certainly wasn’t anything she’d seen on-world during her previous tour.

“We don’t have any official name for this species, so for the moment, it’s simply Type Charlie. The third extraterrestrial sentient we’ve encountered. Unlike Type Alpha, whom Charlie does resemble superficially, Charlie is stocky and powerfully built. While it does seem to wear a uniform of some sort, Charlie eschews even the basic armor of Type Beta. Don’t be fooled, however. One Hayden pathfinder attempted to plant his personal blade into one of these aliens, and all he got for his trouble was a snapped wrist and his own blade driven into his gut. Even with two successful strikes, all he managed to do was scratch his opponent.”

“What kind of blade was he using?” Ton spoke up from behind Sorilla.

“The pathfinder in question was using a meteor steel, hand forged bowie, Captain Washington. Heavy and about as sharp as any normal blade has a right to be.”

“Damn.”

“No way they can do that against a molecular blade,” Another man, a SEAL named Crow, said confidently.

“Likely not, but let’s not get too overconfident, Lieutenant,” Zimm countered sternly. “Hayden command is currently missing over forty men, at last count, all of them credited to this group of aliens. In return, we have two enemy casualties, both unconfirmed.”

Several people cursed at that bit of intel, and Sorilla almost joined in.

“Just to be very clear, that puts this group on a considerably higher lethality level, estimated death-for-death ratio, than the alien forces using gravity-induced fission attacks.” The general glowered at them all. “We’re sending in more troops to relieve some of the pressure on Hayden command, but you are going to be the sharp point of the spear. Your mission will be to get into the jungle, track these aliens down, and neutralize them.”

He looked around the room, but no one seemed to question the orders. Zimm nodded, satisfied, and then went on.

“We’ll be dividing you into three teams. Team Alpha will take point and be in overall command of the mission,” he said. “Captain Washington, this is your squad.”

“Sir.” The big black man nodded, saying nothing else.

“Master Sergeant Aida, you’re senior NCO on the team.”

“Sir,” Sorilla said, hesitating slightly.

Zimm must have noticed it. “I know that you’re a trainer by profession, Aida, but you also have the most complete hands on experience with Hayden jungles and these aliens.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Glad to have you, Top,” Ton said softly as he leaned forward.

She just nodded.

“Crow, Simmons, Mackenzie, and Kormon…you round out the team.”

“Yes, sir,” they called in unison.

The general went on to detail the beta and gamma teams, but Sorilla tuned him out as she considered the current situation. Not that she was opposed to being on a straight up strike team, her primary assignments were normally educational. That didn’t mean she spent much time in a classroom, though it did happen that way from time to time, but even after the repeal of the ground forces exclusion laws that kept women off the front line, the Army was uneasy with women in higher risk roles.

This was one reason she’d picked the SF over, say, her father’s Ranger unit. With an education track career in the SF, as long as she could hack the physical requirements, Sorilla was able to get out in the field as much or more than many of her male comrades who specialized in more straight forward professions. When it came to training guerillas, your classroom was their entire country.

By the time Sorilla signed up, the Special Forces had one of the highest percentages of women in the American military, because teaching was so core to their existence and women were often able to get some types of information across with less trouble than men. Particularly in some of the Middle East regions, where women were now fighting for their version of suffrage against a militantly patriarchal society. It had yet to blow up into full bore guerilla warfare, but many suspected that was where the situation was heading.

At any rate, to be assigned to a straight up strike team was unusual but certainly not unwelcome. She was looking forward to touching dirt on Hayden again and seeing just what this new group was really up to.

“You’ll all be hitching a ride with the Cheyenne when she leaves orbit in two days,” the general said finally. “That won’t leave time to get most of you your space wings, but Sergeant Aida is master jump qualified and a certified instructor. The trip to Hayden is going to take several weeks, so I’d suggest you make the most of your time. That is all.”

Sorilla masked a grimace.

Qualifying for your space wings was hard enough, but to pull it off onboard ships that were going to be drawing at least a full g most of the way was bad. Being the person who had to teach it, well, that just sucked. That said, she knew that there was no chance they’d be able to earn those wings on this trip. You needed to do orbital drops, and there was no way she was taking that chance in a warzone with unqualified jumpers.

“Sergeant Aida. A moment before you go.”

Sorilla paused, half turning back to see General Zimm motioning her over. He had a wry look on his face that told her he had again been reading her mind.

“We both know they won’t qualify before you reach Hayden, but so as not to worry you about it, you should be aware that the Cheyenne and Hood class ships all have integrated OIS.”

Sorilla nodded. “Understood. Thank you, sir.”

“Do try and get them ready to take their quals before they get back, though.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Excellent. Good hunting, Top.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said before leaving.

OIS, or Operator Insertion System, was a shipboard design intended to do exactly what the name implied. The only catch was that it required the ship in question to get pretty deep into the atmosphere to pull it off if the operators weren’t orbit certified, and no starship was able to exactly take its time in atmo.

The idea of being ejected from a multi-million-ton starship moving at hypersonic speeds in atmosphere was a far from enjoyable thought. That said, it was better than trying to keep three teams of rookie jumpers in formation during a space jump that spanned better than 500,000 kilometers. Just keeping them together would be damned near impossible, but landing at the right LZ?

Sorilla had chills at the very thought.

*****

USF forward operating base

Hayden

Kayne detested fighting guerillas.

Not that he’d ever had this sort of experience in the past, most of his counter-insurgent experience involved distinctly urban or desert environments, actually, but the same basic principal held. Guerillas were the most aggravating pains in the ass he’d ever encountered. Even when they were on his side, Kayne didn’t much like dealing with them.  Not that he questioned their effectiveness. Operators were just pains in the ass.

And this bunch of new aliens were most certainly operators.

If it weren’t for the completely different description of the aliens in question, Kayne would have considered putting black marks all over Sergeant Aida’s jacket for the horribly faulty intel. However, it was clear that this group was not the one she encountered, being of a completely different species by all appearance and using completely different tactics.

Over the last two months, they’d ambushed his patrols with increasing frequency, striking from long-range with a new set of unknown weapons that were reasonably effective within the jungle environment, striking farming settlements that survived the original invasion and generally making outright pests of themselves.

Unfortunately, most of the common methods for countering insurgents weren’t available to him at the moment. He was as much out of his element as they were, and if they didn’t have access to fire support from those damned gravity valves, then neither did he have the air and artillery support he was used to operating with.