Pax Imperia (The Redemption Trilogy) (21 page)

Suddenly remembering his earlier thoughts about the reason for the couple’s late arrival, he suddenly found something uncomfortable take up residence in the pit of his stomach. Without thinking, he found himself taking a step towards the Senator, fully intent on tearing his arm from around her waist, before he caught himself. Using every inch of self-control he had learned over almost a decade in the fleet, he instead forced a pleasant expression on his face. He nodded politely at the Senator, before ignoring him and turned to face Sofia.

“Princess Aurelius,” he bowed politely in greeting.

“Senator Aurelius,” she corrected him haughtily.

Jon’s eyes widened in shock, looking upon the couple in a new light, as he had just assumed she was the Senator’s partner for the evening. Jon let his heart beat once again, but only to have it shattered by her next question.

“Perhaps you would like to introduce me to your date for the evening?” Sofia asked, her eyes staring daggers passed him.

Jon had completely forgotten about Sarah, standing at his side, her arm possessively wrapped around his own. She had not released him since he had rescued her from the lecherous Senator earlier.

Staring in horror at Sarah’s curious expression, as her gaze switched between the two of them, remembering his earlier horrific betrayal of Sofia’s trust, he wondered how he was ever going to explain this away.

Chapter Eight

Present Day,

Altair V, Altair System

Sunrise on Altair was still some time off when the first of the trucks rounded the bend in the road and came to a shuddering halt a hundred metres from the dark, wrought iron gates. Due to the unusual tilt of Altair, sunrise occurred extremely early, at almost four in the morning local time, so the air was extremely cold as the troops quickly disembarked from the back of the first truck. The second truck came to a halt a few metres behind the first and also started disgorging men.

They were already running hours behind schedule, because, on arriving at the small spaceport at the edge of Carrington City, there had been no air transport available. To get around the city, old trucks, which were powered by internal combustion engines, were used. The cost of spare parts and repairs made any other form of transport prohibitively expensive, so all they had managed to obtain were two flatbed-trucks and two jeeps to carry themselves and all of their equipment.

Once they had disembarked, they gathered around in a small huddle, more to conserve body heat than any real desire for close company. All wore black tactical armour, which was designed to protect the owner from the fatal effects of energy weapons rather than to keep them warm. While the pulse rifle that each clutched firmly in his arms could potentially be used for warmth, it was far more effective at inflicting death and destruction, which they recognised they would be carrying out soon. They were all keen to complete their mission quickly, so as to get back into the warmth of their vehicles.

“You’ve all been briefed prior to our arrival on this God-forsaken shithole. Remember, the objective is to take the family alive. None of you mercs are going to see a single credit if you cap one of ’em, so watch your fire. I, for one, fully intend on getting paid for this job, so you cap one of ’em, and I’m gonna cap you. Capiche?” The Sergeant ground out the no-nonsense type of pre-mission briefing that had served him well in the past.

“What about any resistance Sarge?” One of the shadowy mercenaries asked. “Are we allowed to cap them?”

“I don’t give a flying shit what happens to their hired guns. The boss reported it was possible there might be a couple. Just don’t go and cap the fucking family. Got it?”

At affirmative nods from the group, the Sergeant turned off the small light he had been using to illuminate his map and motioned with his hands towards the gates. “Then move out and let’s hurry the hell up. My ass is freezing!”

*****

The emergency signal had Captain Stefan Frasier awaking immediately. Over his many years in Special Forces he had come to realise that people fell into two broad categories, those who could wake instantly and those who could not. A veteran of dozens of such operations, spanning almost a decade in the Imperial Navy, ensured that he definitely fell in the former category.

His distinguished career, however, had come to a jarring halt when the newly formed Confederation had started a rapid downsizing programme of the navy, which resulted in him, and many others like him, losing their jobs. Faced with the prospect of having to learn a new trade, god forbid accounting, he had leapt at the offer from Captain Harrington to lead this security detail.

That had been almost five years ago.

Since then he had fallen into a regular routine. The pay was good, the accommodation was comfortable and the food was fantastic—the Radec matriarch was a savant in the kitchen. Although Stefan never forgot the promise, made years earlier, to their son that he would keep his family safe. It was for this reason that he was wide awake, rolling out of bed and striding across to the communications console, only seconds after receiving the first call.

“Report,” he insisted, slapping the palm of his hand on the key to transmit his response.

“Captain, I’ve got four vehicles pulling up at the main gate. I am counting at least two dozen people disembarking,” came back the succinct report.

“Some lost maintenance team?” he voiced out loud, giving them the benefit of the doubt.

“Not unless it’s a particularly stubborn repair job, Captain. As I am observing many long and short barrelled weapons and tactical armour. I don’t think they are here to help Mrs Radec kill the bugs in her garden,” the marine quipped, staring through the scope of his rifle. It clearly illuminated the scene unfolding almost a hundred metres away, making the darkness no problem at all.

While he could clearly watch the troops disembarking, they would not be able to see him as he was stretched out under a darkened net, which also absorbed all of his thermal energy. Thus he was invisible to any thermal scopes that they might have, and experienced the pleasant side effect of being kept nicely warm in the freezing night air. He was perched high up on a deck that extended for several metres out from the side of the large residence. Not noticeable from a distance were the addition of several large, load-bearing struts underneath the deck, which were more than necessary to accommodate the weight of a family and guests on sun loungers, but possibly strong enough to hold the weight of a shuttle. Such a landing would be difficult, especially without any illumination, hence the dozens of bright spotlights situated around the deck, which could be easily activated with the flick of a switch. The only question was the whereabouts of such a shuttle, which was Captain Frasier’s very next question.

“Shit. Have you already contacted the spaceport? Tell them to get the bird in the air. Now.”

The marine sighed, wondering why today he had to be the bearer of bad tidings. “Negative Captain, all external communications are down.”

“What do you mean all external communications are down? Have you tried the Tachyon relay?”

“I’ve tried it three times Captain, all external communications are down, except for our short range tactical communications. I cannot establish a connection with the relay; there is no carrier signal, data-link, absolutely nothing. It’s like it’s no longer up there.”

“Damn, rouse the others. I’ll go wake up the family and tell them we have some uninvited guests knocking at the front door.”

“Better make it quick Captain, as the barbarians are already at the gate and are currently in the process of scaling it,” the sniper reported. Activating the range finder on the rifle, although he already had the distance, ninety-eight point five metres to the main gate, memorised. There was no need to adjust for wind drift, as there wasn’t any tonight, but he had to aim a touch higher, to account for the increased resistance from the cold air. The marine flicked off the safety of the massive rifle, his finger tightening around the trigger.

*****

Captain Frasier hurried from the small office that long ago was converted into a small command centre. Rapidly fastening the Velcro strips of his tactical armour, he made his way to the family’s master bedroom. Stepping quietly into the room, he was not surprised to find husband and wife both fast asleep, as it was only four in the morning. Stepping around to the husband’s side, Frasier put on the bedside light and tapped the old man softly on the shoulder. The man came awake instantly, his confused eyes focusing on the Captain before they cleared and he was suddenly alert. Frasier was impressed. Obviously the older Radec also fell into his earlier category for waking quickly.

“I need you to wake up your family and get them dressed. Quickly please, sir,” Frasier explained swiftly.

“What’s going on Stefan?” Ryan asked in a quiet whisper, so as not to wake his sleeping wife.

“There is trouble outside. Please just do what I say, at once.”

Ryan looked at the Captain in puzzlement for a moment, but upon recognising the serious expression on his face, wisely kept any other questions to himself as he leaned over to rouse his wife. He had known the Captain and the rest of his team for many years, as they had already arrived before he and the family had moved into their new home. During those years, he had never seen such an expression on the man’s face. Knowing a little of his background and experiences over late night drinks, Ryan recognised that anything to worry him must be serious indeed.

Once they had both hurriedly dressed, he sent his wife Irene to the adjacent bedroom to get the boy dressed, while he fumbled around in the dark at the top of his wardrobe.

It was at that point the first shot rang out.

*****

Having quickly scaled the wall surrounding the property, the Sergeant indicated to the rest of the men to move onwards.

While he never heard the shot, the Sergeant could clearly observe the result of the impact of the bullet as it struck the lead mercenary, just under his chin.

The bullet was obviously on a parabolic trajectory as it continued onwards, passing through the body and exiting through his back, leaving a three-inch-wide exit wound. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and complete silence. For a moment the mercenary stood still, before falling backwards due to the force of the impact of the bullet. The Sergeant looked on in astonishment as the body hit the ground, the man’s wide open eyes staring sightlessly back up at him almost accusingly, as if the man blamed the Sergeant for his death.

The shout of warning was still stuck in his throat, as another mercenary standing next to the first was struck in a similar manner. However, by then, the rest of the group was already moving, heedless of his warning, diving in all directions, desperately looking for cover. Unfortunately there wasn’t any, only about one hundred metres of open ground from the front gate to the entrance of the house.

From the briefing pictures, the large spacious property, nestling within the idyllic grounds with green grass, lakes and flowerbeds surrounding it, looked picturesque, but the Sergeant was contemplating the problem now facing them. For they had one hundred metres of open ground to traverse, encumbered with heavy armour and weapons, while the house ahead had a three-hundred-and-sixty degree field of fire, with excellent cover in all directions.

Turning his head, he noticed a small corpse of trees running around the edge of the property, just inside the perimeter wall. Obviously they were used to shield it from nosy neighbours and allow the occupants some privacy from the road. Being only a couple of metres away, they offered the only shelter in the area. Motioning towards the team, he screamed “Move!” before dashing in the direction of the trees, caring little if anybody was even following him.

Sliding onto his stomach, trying to make his body as small as possible behind the thin trunk of a small Spruce tree, he ducked as a bullet lodged itself in the bark, only inches from his face.

“Sniper,” he bellowed at the top of his voice. “Suppressing fire.”

“No shit ‘Sarge,” one of the mercenaries spluttered, from somewhere in the dark next to him. “But suppress what? Where the hell is he?”

“The house,” screamed the Sergeant. “Shoot. At. The. Goddamn. House. Now!”

The remaining mercenaries looked at the dark, seemingly empty house a hundred metres ahead, shrugged, and opened fire with their pulse rifles.

*****

It was the damn spruce trees. Frasier always knew they were going to be the death of him, that or the God-damn peonies. For it would seem that Jon’s mother Irene had decided to make up for lost time, having spent most of her life in a small apartment, and invest the majority of her free time in botany. Her gardens were the envy of all their neighbours, even though the closest one was more than ten kilometres away, as the Radec family owned all of the surrounding land. It was rare for a day to go by when Stefan or one of the other members of his team were not assisting her planting some flowers or trees.

Hence the spruce trees around the perimeter.

Stefan had several major arguments with the family matriarch over those, as they offered perfect cover to any attackers. He had even suggested a fall-back plan of planting claymore mines amongst the trees, but she had shot that idea down, by pointing out that the boy liked to play in the trees. At this moment in time, those damn trees were the bane of his existence.

“Hold your fire,” Stefan ordered to the rest of the team, over their encrypted communications system. “Let them make the next move, we need to delay them for as long as possible.” Fortunately the defenders had one last forlorn hope, for while they could not call the shuttle, they had agreed, regular check-in times with the crew stationed at Carrington City. If they did not establish contact, the flight crew would probably assume the worst and come to investigate. The next scheduled contact time was still thirty minutes away.

Stefan was peering through the light-amplifying binoculars and could clearly see the attackers dividing into two distinct groups. He instinctively knew that the smaller group would be the assault team, with the larger group acting as the fire-team.