Virtues of War (32 page)

“Oh, hey!” Katja suddenly reached into one of her pockets and produced a data crystal. “Here’s the research I was talking about. I made a copy of
Astrid
’s flight log. I did some calculations on the other ship’s trajectory. It didn’t seem to lead to anything—but maybe you’ll see something I didn’t.”

“Thanks.” He took the crystal with interest. “This should give me a starting point, if nothing else.”

“Good luck,” she said. “Take care of yourself.” He thought she meant it.

Katja walked off, with Lahko right behind her.

Jack studied the tiny, featureless data storage device. His frustration faded away. What did Breeze know anyway—she was just Astral Intelligence. He pocketed the crystal and limped for the door.

If there was a secret jump gate out there, he was going to find it.

I
t had been a long time since she’d worn terrestrial armor. As she followed Scott Lahko across the broad, clear deck at the center of the Corps hangar, Katja enjoyed the easy movement and peripheral vision that her armored spacesuit lacked.

The armor was standard battle gear for the Astral Corps, designed for up to seven days of surface combat. A soft, black one-piece jumpsuit clung to her body to regulate temperature, all but invisible under the hard, rust-colored outer plates—specially color-prepared for each terrain—that linked together to shield against impact while maintaining full flexibility. The neck plates offered protection up to her ears, and would be capped by the helmet she currently carried in her left hand.

Because the mission was only a raid, her gear was light—assault rifle and eight magazines, a spare power pack for the rifle, first aid kit, and minimal rations.

As she walked the dozen small armor plates covering her legs brushed against each other, clicking softly. It was a very different sound from the whirr of her suit. It was the sound of a ground-pounder, the sound of a trooper. If she hadn’t had her war-face on, she would have smiled.

The platoon was already formed up in standard order: three ranks of fifteen with the two sergeants in front and the five squad leaders behind. Chang and the other three members of her strike team were formed up in their own rank off to the right.

“Second platoon, atten-
tion
!”

In a single crisp movement, the fifty-six assembled troopers snapped to attention.

Lahko stopped in front of the sergeant who had barked the order and they exchanged quiet words. Katja moved to the end of the ranks.

Lahko stepped back and surveyed his platoon. “At ease.”

Everyone relaxed.

“Listen up, troopers. Today we are going in hot. This is not a simulation. Those people on the ground want to kill us. Our mission is clear—find the Centauri agents and bring them back alive. Everyone else, fuck ’em!” He glared over at Katja and her team. “Lieutenant Emmes and
Rapier
’s strike team are along as our guides. They’ve been here before, and you will listen to what they have to say.”

She walked forward so that the platoon could see her clearly, but kept her distance from Lahko. Sometimes she hated the fact that she was so small, especially when a charismatic giant like Scott had just surrendered the stage.

“The target today is a farming complex near Free Lhasa,” she said. “It is populated by unarmed civilians, including children. This region does not have a history of terrorism, and we don’t expect there to be any martyrs in the crowd.”

Her comment drew a few chuckles. She pushed down the sudden memory of the thrown jar, exploding in midair, followed by the unnamed man’s torso exploding as her bullet detonated in his chest.

“Intelligence reports that there is no warlord activity in the area, so we can expect an unopposed landing. The regular population is generally compliant,” a vision of her rifle butt smashing through the faces of the man and woman, “so any resistance at all should be treated as indication of hostiles.

“Our primary search area is the equipment lock-up at the south end of the central complex, desig building ten, as well as two shacks of unknown purpose in the southeast corner. These shacks have been erected since our last visit, and are considered extremely suspicious.

“Intel reports that this farm is a drop site for Centauri weapons, and that their agents maintain a permanent presence to coordinate with local warlords. We do not know the exact numbers of agents, but we suspect at least three. They are to be taken alive.
Rapier
strike team will lead the search. Second Platoon will provide cover on all sides.”

She nodded to Lahko, and resumed her position at the side of the platoon.

Lahko concluded the briefing. “We’ll have strike fighter support. Sublieutenant Wei and Fifth Platoon will be on standby. Fleet will do some preliminary bombardment on Cerberan bases a thousand kilometers away from the target to draw attention there. There’s no hiding these big ships, but the goal is for us to get in unnoticed.

“You’ve all seen the maps. You all know your search areas. The plan is simple—we land, we secure the population, we search, we get out.” He offered a wolfish grin. “Then, when Intel has their info, we dish out some payback!”

The troopers muttered their agreement. They were hungry for action.

Katja glanced at her “strike team.” Chang, Sakiyama, Cohen, and Alayan were stone-faced. If they were hungry for anything, it was vengeance, and she knew the feeling well. There was no real connection between the farm on Cerberus and the deaths of their fellow troopers in orbit over Laika, but everyone was the enemy now. Vengeance in whatever form would be sweet.

The drop ship boasted a very simple design. The stern was a ramped opening wide enough to disgorge a platoon of troopers in seconds. Low, bubble turrets perched on all four top corners of the hull, with weapons to provide covering fire as the ship landed. The interior bay was large enough to hold a tank, and easily seated fifty-some regular infantry.

Katja edged past the troopers as they unfolded aft-facing seats from the deck and strapped themselves in. She followed Lahko into the cockpit, where there were three seats behind the pair of pilots, raised slightly to give a good view. Lahko, as platoon leader, took the central seat. Katja took the port-side spot and secured herself.

Soon the airlock doors were sliding open, and Katja looked out to once again lay eyes upon the red and brown world of Cerberus. As Lahko conducted last-minute checks with Drop Command, she literally watched the world go by, and reviewed once again the sequence of events from her previous raid. She visualized the drop zone, and where their target buildings were located.

This time, she would finish the mission.

The countdown came from Drop Command. Katja leaned back straight in her seat.

“Three… Two… One.

“Drop!”

She was pressed back as the drop ship launched clear of
Normandy
’s hull. There was a moment of free-fall, and then the ship turned its nose down toward the planet. As it accelerated, she listened to the sporadic radio chatter, wishing she had a 3-D display to track the positions of any Cerberan craft. Before going fast-attack, she hadn’t cared about “Fleet crap” like ship movements and positioning: like a good trooper, she had cared only for her mission on the ground.

Now, though, she felt blind as she held onto her seat and watched the orange cone build around the drop ship’s hull. The ship began to shudder as the cone grew to envelop the forward windows. Visions of
Rapier
’s dive toward Laika filled her mind. Of bulkheads groaning. Of air leaking out. Smoke in passageways. Hernandez being shot to pieces. Her breathing was quick, straining against the g-forces. She moved reflexively to shut her faceplate and suck in concentrated suit oxygen.

But there was no suit.

Something hard banged against her shoulder. Lahko’s fist.

“Hey!” he shouted over the roar. “Don’t be a girl, Emmes!”

Sudden anger overwhelmed her. She forced deep breaths in and out, like her training had drilled into her. Her lungs loosened and filled with oxygen.

She punched his arm. Hard.

“If you’re lucky and make it back,” she said, “you’ll be my bitch!”

“Now we’re talking!” His eyes were hidden behind the darkened visor, but his grin was clear.

The fires of entry faded and the drop ship raced through the sky, dropping steadily on final approach. Katja surveyed the broad landscape with her eyes, then focused in on the strike camera. The farm looked exactly the same—a central complex of buildings surrounded by long greenhouses that extended out like the spokes of a giant wheel.

“Looks quiet,” she said.

Lahko nodded. “Maybe Intel was right!”

The view of the farm grew clearer as they approached. Seconds later, they were braking hard over the farm and dropping to the ground.

She unstrapped, released her rifle and rose in a swift, practiced movement. Unlike a strike pod, however, there were more than three troopers to disembark before her, and she came to an abrupt stop next to Lahko at the forward end of the trooper bay. The platoon spilled out before her with impressive efficiency, but even so, she practically strolled down the deck to the stern ramp.

The familiar hot wind brushed against her chin and jaw, and the strange, slightly metallic smell of Cerberan air was familiar. She lifted her rifle and descended to the dusty ground, watching carefully as the platoon spread out in a standard securing pattern. Lahko barked orders over the helmet comms.

The harsh light of Sirius reflected off the dull white buildings with an intensity that made her squint, even behind her visor. Troopers shuffled forward in pairs, checking windows and doorways. Otherwise, there was no movement. No civilians. No one dropping to the ground or staring in shock.

She turned in a slow circle as she walked, looking over her rifle, taking in the complete scene. The farm looked deserted.

Lahko had noticed it, too. “Pretty quiet.”

She nodded. “This isn’t right. Last time there were a dozen people within sight of this central area. Maybe they had warning, and ran.”

“Could be.”

Lahko issued a quick update, advising his platoon to expect trouble.

Building seven, the lab, was on her right. From the outside there was no evidence of the violence that had taken place there less than three weeks ago.

Chang and the rest of the strike team appeared in her peripheral. To keep naming simple, Chang, Sakiyama, Alayan, and Cohen had taken the code-names Alpha-Two through Five. For this mission, they were one squad, one team.

She motioned them forward. They advanced in a line on her flank, weapons up. Pairs of troopers guarded the corners of building seven on the right and building thirteen on the left. Seven fell away to reveal two smaller service huts—auxiliary power units. They gleamed silver in the dazzling sunlight, their sheer newness distinguishing them from the rest of the complex. Troopers used them as cover, guarding the approach to building ten.

Building ten was the same dull white as the rest of the complex, a square equipment storage shed taller than the other buildings. A large garage door was visible on the left, no doubt where the farm equipment was wheeled in and out. A door for pedestrian traffic was on the near wall.

Movement caught Katja’s eye. Just a swirl of dust in the street. The rough ground growled under her feet as she shuffled forward. The long greenhouses loomed in the background. Katja could see down the straight paths between them, half a kilometer to the open plains. To her right, those two small shacks stood curiously apart from the rest of the complex.

Second Platoon covered her, and she turned her eyes back to the target.

Building ten had probably once been gleaming white, but years of blowing dust had faded the plastic panels. The grooves in the door were caked with grit, but the handles were clear and smooth. Katja paused at arm’s length, and signaled for her team to activate their quantum-flux viewers.

The building walls dissolved in the vaporous view of the subatomic, but little emerged in their place. Katja swept her gaze slowly through a hundred degrees. Beyond a single chair she could make out, just inside the doors, there was nothing to see but a vague, swirling mass.

She deactivated her viewer.

Glances passed between her troopers. She hand-signaled that she could see nothing. They each signaled back the same.

The gnawing pull of indecision tightened in her gut. What was it about this farm?

Chang caught her eye from the far end of the line.

Buttonhook. Alpha-Two. Alpha-Five. Question.
He was asking, not telling. But he got the point across—they had to enter to find out what was inside.

She delivered her orders via hand signal. She and Sakiyama would lead. The tall, lean trooper shuffled past Cohen to join her at the door. It was his job to keep her alive today.

She tried the latch. Locked. She motioned for him to kick it in.

Sakiyama’s big boot collided with the thin barrier and knocked it open with a crash, revealing darkness.

Katja was through, rifle up.

Sunlight flooded in behind her, and her own shadow played tricks with her vision. She leapt to one side to not be silhouetted. Sakiyama was inside a heartbeat later. Dust floated in the broad ray of light from the doorframe, but otherwise nothing moved. They were in a small room with three chairs on one side and lockers on the other. Katja tried her quantum-flux again. It revealed nothing.

She activated her comms, so that Lahko and Drop Command could hear.

“This is Alpha-One,” she whispered. “There’s some kind of quantum shielding in building ten. We are advancing visually.”

She shuffled forward, rifle up to her eye line with barrel lowered for a clear view. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her, the old excitement she had experienced during training scenarios. But this was even better—this was real. She had proven herself under fire, and her troopers would follow her anywhere. She felt powerful. In control. If only her father could have been watching.

She reached the doorway at the far end of the room and slipped through. In the dim light the walls extended away on both sides, and the ceiling rose out of view. Two meters ahead, a heavy black screen hung down to the floor and obscured all view. She stepped to the left. Sakiyama to the right. A flick of her thumb, and the tiny spotlight on her barrel lit up, directing a narrow but brilliant cone of light forward into the gloom.