Pax Imperia (The Redemption Trilogy) (22 page)

“Lucas, Alex, there’s a six man assault team coming in from the south. Hold your fire for as long as possible, as we need to wait for the shuttle to ex-filtrate the family.” It wasn’t worth mentioning there was no room on the shuttle for them, as it mattered little to the men. They would hold off the assault team for as long as possible and have the family on the shuttle, or die trying. After all, the only way that the attackers would get to the family was over their dead bodies. Stefan continued to observe the assault team from his vantage point on the second floor, overlooking the garden. The rest of the assailants remained under the cover of the trees, laying down a covering fire which was ineffective, as without anything to aim at, they were just shooting randomly at the darkened house.

Stefan waited for the last possible moment, trying to conserve every last second, until the assault team were almost at the house, before remotely activating the lights.

Almost immediately powerful floodlights situated on the sides of the house lit up the grounds, illuminating everything within a hundred metres of the house. There was nothing spared, no shadow to hide in. It was almost as if the sun had risen hours early.

For the assault team it was fatal, as they were deprived of the only cover available to them, the shroud of darkness. Even worse was that the bright, penetrating lights immediately blinded them. At the same time, Lucas and Alex, the two marines who had been stationed on the ground floor, opened fire with their assault rifles on fully automatic. At barely a dozen metres away, blinded, the assault team was frozen and easy pickings for the two marines, as they strafed the group, both firing until their magazines ran dry, before smoothly sliding in new clips. By then over half the assault team were already dead or dying, the remaining ones diving for the ground, using the bodies of their fallen colleagues as the only cover available to them. Even then they could not return fire, as they could not see the muzzle flashes of the marines assault rifles due to the blinding lights from the house. They were forced to waste precious seconds shooting out the lights and still they could barely see, their eyes being dazzled by the light.

At which point very few of them were left alive anyway.

*****

The Sergeant had wisely decided to remain under the cover of the trees. He had not reached this age and experience by taking unnecessary risks. He growled in frustration as they had already lost almost a third of the team and were still no nearer to approaching the house.

“Give me that damn thing,” he spat in frustration, taking the assault rifle from one of the mercenaries, who was still busily blinking away the stars from his eyes. The Sergeant had instantly looked away when the lights had come on, cursing himself for not expecting such an obvious ploy. Well he would show them. Elevating the assault rifle in the direction of the house, taking a firm hold of the handgrip of the device slung under the barrel of the rifle, he triggered the grenade launcher.

The grenade launcher, based on a design almost five hundred years old, was just as deadly as the day it had been first designed. Firing an olive drab aluminium skirt with a steel-gold cup attached and white markings, the High-Explosive Dual Purpose Round (HEDPR) left the barrel of the launcher travelling at almost one hundred metres per second. Arming itself after only twenty metres, it took less than a second to travel the distance to the house, landing squarely in the dining room where the two marines had piled tables, chairs and cupboards to make an impromptu barricade. It was all for nothing as the grenade exploded on impact, gutting the room and instantly killing the two marines.

The explosion shook the entire house. The blast from the high explosive grenade actually travelled up the stairs to the second floor and down the corridor, knocking Stefan off his feet, stunning him.

“Move out,” the Sergeant screamed at the rest of his men. Quite naturally the group hesitated at first, having just seen what had happened to the first assault team. Their natural reluctance was soon overcome when the Sergeant swung the assault rifle around to bear on them, cursing, “I shoot the last one of you bastards to move. Now move out.”

They moved. Quickly.

With his head still ringing from the blast, Stefan hauled himself to his feet. He had lost his binoculars in the explosion, but there were still enough lights illuminating the scene in front of him. It was a bleak situation, as the attackers had given up on any sense of subtly, had formed a line and were slowly advancing on the house. He counted almost twenty of them.

“Lucas, Alex, can you hear me?” he called into the communicator, but there was no answer. “Lucas. Alex. Respond,” after several moments of silence he knew that they were not going to respond, nobody on the ground floor could have survived that explosion. “Mark?” he called out desperately; dammit somebody must still be alive. The answer was a long time coming, but finally he received a response.

“Captain? You still alive, sir?” The sniper who had until recently been based on the upper deck asked breathlessly.

“Thank the Maker, what is your situation?”

“You know Captain, hanging around.”

“We’ve still got hostiles incoming. Can you engage?”

“Not right at the moment Captain,” Mark responded breathlessly, observing his rifle several metres to his right, dangling from the side of the deck at a precarious angle. In about as precarious a position as he found himself, hanging from the edge of the deck by his fingertips. He didn’t need to look down to know that he had at least a good twenty metres fall beneath him. “I must sadly report that the shuttle landing pad is currently inoperative Captain,” he muttered, continuing to hold on for dear life.

Stefan cursed, palming the pistol that had been resting at his side, focusing back down the corridor in the direction of the stairs to the ground floor. With the bedrooms behind him and the stairs ahead, they would have to get past him to reach the family. Which he did not see was going to be a huge problem for them, as his pistol clip held only sixteen rounds.

It was only then that he felt the house start to shake and shudder for a second time. What were the attackers doing now? he wondered. Perhaps they had decided to just flush out the inhabitants with further grenades, in which case it mattered little how many rounds he had in the clip.

*****

The mercenaries were halfway to the house when they started to feel the ground shaking. As one the group stopped, looking at each other nervously, wondering what horrific fate awaited them now. The operation had been an unmitigated disaster from the start and what was worse was that the shaking seemed to be getting worse. Suddenly all the men on the ground heard a tremendous roar.

The shuttle screamed over the house, circling around to reduce speed, until it came to a stop, hovering directly over them like a massive hawk inspecting the damage to its nest. The assault shuttle remained there for a moment, barely a dozen feet above the ground, hanging like a fallen star, the jets beneath it keeping it in the air and giving off a bright white light. Then like an enraged hawk protecting its family, the nose swung around to face the mercenaries, who had frozen in terror halfway towards the house, still illuminated by the remaining lights.

Time seemed to freeze as the shuttle and mercenaries faced off against each other, the silence only interrupted by the
whirl
as the external weapon pods of the shuttle were deployed. The sound was consumed by the night, as quickly as it started, and everything was still for a moment. Then the pair of pulse cannons in the dorsal turret opened fire, raking along the line of mercenaries. The men did not waver for an instant and, like the tide coming in, they turned and ran back towards the treeline fifty metres behind them.

Even then only half of them made it alive.

The accurate pulse cannon fire of the assault shuttle cut down most of them, as it continuously breathed death and destruction. The cannons on the shuttle fell silent for a while to allow the craft to switch fire to the 70mm rockets that had been deployed at the same time as the cannons. The line of spruce trees lit up like a fireball, as the rockets screamed out of their launch pods, detonating along the perimeter where the mercenaries had taken cover. Even then the rockets did not stop. Instead, the shuttle shifted its aim slightly and targeted the trucks and jeeps parked along the road. The rockets detonated the fuel tanks first and, one by one, the vehicles exploded in sequential balls of fire, showering burning debris down on the already shell-shocked mercenaries.

*****

After the deaths of Lucas and Alex, Stefan watched with undisguised glee as their air-support rained down a fiery retribution on the mercenaries, who were now in full retreat.

“Die you bastards. Die,” Stefan cried, watching the scene unfurl outside. Then everything fell silent. The cannons and rockets on the shuttle stopped firing, while the spruce trees continued to burn brightly along the perimeter and, behind them, he could see the remains of the smouldering vehicles. At this point a most curious event took place, for out of the burning treeline walked a solitary man. Unhurriedly he walked forward until he was standing a short distance in front of the shuttle, which was still hovering above the ground. Even from this distance, Stefan could make out the small patches of flame that framed his outline in the dark. As if finally noticing the shuttle, the figure looked hatefully at it and spat on the ground, before reaching behind him for something.

Stefan could only look on in horror.

*****

Again the Sergeant spat on the ground, his throat still sore from the smoke that he had inhaled. “
Fuck you,
” he cursed at the shuttle, sliding the weapon he had slung over his shoulder, keeping it close the whole time, ready for just this sort of eventuality. Raising the long, tube-like contraption, he negligently pointed it at the shuttle, with no necessity to aim. The weapon made a long continuous tone, to indicate that it had a lock and he pulled the trigger on the shoulder-launch, surface-to-air missile.

The missile streaked out from the launch tube, barely having time to arm itself, before striking the shuttle a mortal blow to the belly. The shuttle continued to hang motionless in the sky for a second longer, until one wing slowly started to droop and the craft rolled hard to port. The pilot desperately tried to gain altitude, but it was hopeless. The portside wing struck the ground and the rest of the shuttle nosedived into the ground, the remaining rockets exploding a moment later. The explosion was dazzling, a dozen pyrotechnic fireworks going off simultaneously.

The Sergeant just stood motionless, staring at the burning wreckage before him unblinkingly, before turning back to the still burning tree line. “Move out,” he screamed for the second time that night. “This time I’ll shoot the last two of you.” Slowly the men stood up, casting worried glances at the still burning shuttle, as if to reassure themselves that it would not suddenly again rise from the ashes, like a phoenix, and finish its task.

With the shadows cast from the still burning wreckage, half a dozen men, all that remained from a group of thirty, once again marched in the direction of the house.

*****

Stefan stood still, staring open-mouthed at the burning wreckage of the assault shuttle, their last chance of salvation—gone. However, he had no intention of giving up. With long strides, he made his way back towards the master bedroom, deciding to knock and announce himself at the last minute, which turned out to be a good decision as Ryan lowered the ancient double barrelled shot gun which he had been pointing at the door.

Glancing at the gun in Ryan’s arms with a raised eyebrow, he turned to look at Irene, who was holding the boy tightly in her arms. “We’re leaving. Follow me,” he instructed. Leading them down the back stairs, he deliberately avoided the dining room, taking the small group out though the kitchen, into the rear garden and towards the tree line.

“Mark,” he snapped into the communication link. “We are falling back into the tree line, take up the rear. Do you copy?”

This time however, there was no response to his call.

*****

The door to the command deck of the
Relentless
slid open and, for the first time, Jon stepped out onto the bridge of the flagship. The senior officers were halfway between standing and falling to one knee at his presence, when Jon irritably raised his hand motioning them to stop. He had long since had his fill of such foolishness, which had been Marcus’ preference, not his.

“Admiral?” he directed the question towards Anna, reminding himself just in time that in this place, at this time, formal address was still necessary. “Has there been any communication from Altair V?”

Anna just shook her head negatively, before replying. “No, my Lord. Nothing before we entered faster-than-light and, as you know, we cannot communicate while we are in transit within the wormhole.”

Jon nodded his head before making a snap decision. “Sound General Quarters, bring the ship’s weapon systems on-line and prepare the fleet for combat.”

At a nod from the Admiral towards the Captain, the sound of the General Quarters alarm could be heard echoing throughout the ship. “You anticipate trouble?” she enquired.

This time it was Jon to shake his head. “We are simply preparing ourselves, in case there is. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”

However, before he could say any more, the Helm Officer called out. “Sirs, we are exiting faster-than-light. Now.”

“Operations?” the Captain called.

“Scanning,” came back the terse reply.

“I am picking up a distress signal from the orbiting space-dock. They are reporting that they are under attack. It’s broadcasting on a short-range frequency only, I have no idea why they are not using the Tachyon relay,” the Communications Officer reported.

“I can answer that question,” the Operations Officer reported bleakly. “I have just picked up that the Tachyon relay, or what remains of it, as it has been destroyed. I am detecting three ships in orbit and all three are frigate class vessels. Two of them are currently firing on the space-dock, hence the distress signal, and the third is pulling away from what remains of the Tachyon relay.”