Nullifier (Fire and Rust Book 6) Read online

  Captain Tanner Conway reflected that his life seemed to be made from such disjointed vignettes as this. From deployment to combat, to tension-edged downtime on a transport. Each had its own unique features which only came to the fore when he was in the midst of the experience. The moment one vignette ended and another began, the previous slipped into the recesses of his mind, like his brain feared overloading on the intensity. Oddly enough, as sharply etched as these moments were, the most enduring were those of his too-brief times on New Pacific with his family. He was glad it was so.

  “We ain’t never getting that beer the captain promised us,” grumbled Private Elvis Kemp. The complaining was all for show – Kemp liked to put on an appearance, but as long as he had a full loadout, he’d deal with everything the universe threw his way.

  “If you’re hoping I’ll update my will to say free beers for the squad in the event of my tragic death, you’re sadly mistaken, Private.”

  “Damn, sir.”

  The conditions outside worsened and the shuttle’s walls groaned like they would split apart at any moment. Conway’s harness was made for a Fangrin in a combat suit and it didn’t adjust enough to grip him tightly. Consequently, he was required to hold onto the sides of his seat while keeping his Gilner upright between his knees. It was tiring and he wondered if this was a step too far for his squad after everything they’d been through in Refuge 9. This was a choice he’d put to them and not one person had said they wanted to stay behind on the Ternius. The Fangrin medics had given everyone a shot of something invigorating and that was that.

  “Haven’t you dogs invented viewscreens yet?” asked Kemp, turning his attention elsewhere. “I’m used to watching the outside world when I’m flying to my likely death. It puts my mind at ease.”

  “Every Fangrin home was fitted with a 120-inch screen in each room before you humans even learned that knocking two pieces of flint together produced fire,” said Lieutenant Rembra. “Now, the smallest of our viewscreens would not fit within this passenger bay.”

  “Well what about a running commentary from the pilot?” asked Kemp. “My dad always used to tell me that aliens were surly sons-of-bitches, too full of their own self-importance to tip their hats and say how-do-you-do.”

  “Fangrin soldiers do not require comforting words during a routine deployment.”

  The shuttle rocked and its engines climbed to a scream before falling to a level which was far more elevated than anything routine.

  “It wasn’t this bad on the way up,” said Private Lola Torres.

  “It was not,” Rembra conceded. “Conditions on planets like this are rarely unchanging.”

  “Any updates from the big man on the ground?” asked Private Chuck Warner.

  “Nothing you don’t already know,” said Conway. “We’ve secured the topside building for Refuge 9 and the first squads have gone through the teleporter. Colonel Thornton is busy looking for a way to get inside the battleship.”

  “They should move that gravity-drive cutter out,” said Corporal Misty Brice. “Nothing else is going to open up a ship that big.”

  “It’s on its way,” said Conway.

  “What do the Raggers make of all this?” asked Corporal Kim Barron. “Are they going to sit back and watch?”

  “Not a chance in hell,” growled Conway. “That’s why I wanted to come back. Those bastards have probably convinced themselves the Sekar battleship was their kill and that they deserve the spoils.”

  “They’re a bunch of stinking vultures,” said Kemp.

  “You do not know the worst of it,” said Gundro.

  “I saw the meat locker and the feeding trough,” said Kemp. “You’re telling me that’s not the worst of it?”

  “You have been given a glimpse and nothing else. I do not mean this to belittle your experiences, human. In time, you may learn.”

  Kemp didn’t answer and Gundro didn’t expand on his past encounters with the Raggers.

  “From all this shaking, I guess we’re deep in the storm,” said Barron.

  “It won’t be long,” said Conway. He decided to make use of the little remaining time. “Lieutenant Rembra, back in Refuge 9 you said you’d tell me some more about how the Raggers organize themselves.”

  “I did say that. There is much to tell.”

  “The basics for now.”

  “Hass-Tei-112 is a First Echelon. We Fangrin estimate there to be more than five hundred Raggers of the same rank. The fleet above Glesia likely belongs entirely to Hass-Tei-112. As well as those spaceships, he will command an army of corpse eaters, spawned from his own genetic codes.”

  “Spawned?”

  “They are force-grown in tubes. A new, full-sized Ragger can be grown within a year. We Fangrin have discovered vast factories containing nothing but spawn tubes. Millions upon millions of the filth, tumbling out of their birth fluid, their brains already stamped with knowledge and instructions. It is a terrible thing.”

  “Doesn’t sound like they have much to look forward to,” said Torres. “No balls and an appetite for raw meat.”

  “We saw a dead Ragger named Hass-Tei-112-98342-001,” said Conway, pulling the number from his memory.

  “Yes – he was the primary from spawn group 98342.”

  “And each spawn group has up to a thousand members?” guessed Conway.

  “Some, not all. A spawn group has as many members as it requires. Some groups contain ten thousand Raggers. We know of one which numbered a hundred thousand.”

  “Which means that Hass-Tei-112 could have spawned hundreds of millions of other Raggers?”

  “That is correct. Other First Echelons have spawned significantly more. Hass-Tei-112 is not remarkable.”

  “How do we beat a species that can produce a fighting-ready soldier from zero in less than a year?” asked Corporal Freeman.

  “That is the hardest question of all,” said Rembra. “We have attacked their manufacturing capabilities. Without spaceships and weapons, they cannot fight.”

  “Damn,” said Conway. “I thought we were beginning to hurt them after Reol and Qali-5.”

  “I doubt the Raggers can shrug off the loss,” said Rembra. “However, it is unlikely to be a fatal blow.”

  “So who’s the real enemy here?” demanded Kemp. “The Raggers or the Sekar?”

  “I would say it is the Raggers, human. The Sekar may ultimately prove to be the greater threat, but we cannot ignore either of these species. From what I have learned, if we prevent the Raggers from experimenting with teleportation, the Sekar will be contained.”

  “All it needs is one failed teleporter on another Ravok facility,” said Sergeant Lockhart. “Someplace where a rift stays open long enough for the Sekar to gain a permanent foothold. Once that happens, maybe there won’t be enough tharniol to shoot them dead.”

  “Welcome to the universe, Sergeant,” said Torres. “It’s great place to live when you’re ignorant of the facts.”

  “And I thought Private Kemp was the only philosopher we had in the squad.”

  “It will not be enough to face each challenge as it presents itself,” said Rembra. “We must hunt for new challenges and we must overcome them. That is how we will crush our foes!”

  “Hell, Lieutenant, it sounds like you’ve been giving it some thought,” said Kemp. “Maybe when it’s all over, the two of us should get together and do some lecturing on the folly of war.”

  “I thought you planned to become Fleet Admiral Kemp?” said Rembra, switching from anger to humor in an instant.

  “In hindsight that would be a bad outcome for humanity,” said Kemp. “Maybe my unique talents would be better utilized teaching others how to avoid the mistakes of the past.”

  “Kemp, you astound me,” said Private Calvin Berg. “I feel like I should say something else, but the words aren’t coming.”

  “It’s fine, Cal. Greater men than you have been left dumbstruck when confronted by the extent of my wisdom.”

  “T
his is like the most bizarre conversation ever,” said Barron. “Part of me wants to see where it ends up and another part wonders if I’m asleep and dreaming.”

  “Pinch yourself,” said Torres. “I tried it and I didn’t wake up. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

  “Nope. Not waking up.”

  The exchange lacked any edge and was it comforting to Conway. He closed his eyes for a moment and knew he’d miss the camaraderie when everything was decided, however the cards fell. The thought made him realize how much he was already thinking about his life outside the ULAF. It was a sudden shift, yet one he was content with.

  Not that he was getting out anytime soon. The best hope was for the allied forces to beat the shit out of the Raggers and the Sekar and then everyone could get back to everyday stuff like training exercises and routine patrols. A time when a soldier might wake up in the morning on a populated world, with the sun shining and good things planned for the day ahead. The kind of life that everyone deserved.

  A violent spate of buffeting jarred Conway from his reverie. He opened his eyes and nothing had changed. With a crackle, the bay speakers came to life.

  “The Ragger fleet has activated stealth,” said the Fangrin pilot, a dog called Aklinza or something that sounded like it. “Our fleet is readying for hostilities.”

  “Ah balls,” said Freeman sourly. “Is it too late to change our minds and head for the Ternius?”

  “It’s at lightspeed, Corporal.”

  “If I die on this shuttle, I hope they construct a thousand death pulse generators and use them to make the Raggers extinct.”

  “That’s exactly what they’ll do,” said Conway. “And we can be damn proud we made it possible.”

  “I’d rather be proud and living than proud and dead.”

  “That makes two of us,” Conway replied. It was time to find out what was coming. “Corporal Freeman, check in with Colonel Thornton’s support team.”

  “On it, sir.”

  The response didn’t take long.

  “It doesn’t sound like Colonel Thornton was expecting us, sir,” said Freeman. “In fact, the first question he asked was what the hell we’re doing.”

  “And?”

  “I told him you were a glutton for punishment, sir.”

  “That’s about right. What are the orders?”

  “Same as everybody else’s – find a way inside the battleship.”

  The shuttle hit a pocket of clearer air and for a moment everything was serene. Then, without warning, the vessel rocked and the deep bass thunder of a warship engine rolled through the bay. The sound faded quickly, and the pilot brought the shuttle under control within a few seconds.

  “Travelling fast,” said Freeman. “One of ours?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “We aren’t dead. Maybe we’re too small to bother with.”

  A second warship raced by and once more the shuttle was thrown about like a toy. The urgency made Conway believe the fighting had either started or it was imminent. Once the missiles began flying, a tiny vessel like this one was the second-worst place for a soldier to be. Unfortunately, the very worst place was on the ground and that was exactly where Conway and his squad would end up soon.

  The bridge speakers fizzed again. “Prepare for landing,” said the pilot.

  A period of violent deceleration followed as the shuttle’s engines fought to bring the vessel to a velocity suitable for landing. Touchdown came and Conway thought that impact was a more appropriate term for it. The shuttle hit the ground hard, the landing legs groaned and something under the floor screeched.

  “Move!” yelled Conway.

  He unsnapped his harness and stood with his rifle in his right hand. Glesia’s surface was rough and the bay floor was canted sharply to one side. Conway took his first step carefully to make sure of the grip and then he strode along the narrow central aisle towards the exit. The pilot didn’t want to wait around and he remote-activated the side ramp. Its fast-open hinges thudded and the ramp was hurled open like it had been kicked by a dozen angry Fangrin.

  Outside was darkness, wind and ice.

  “Welcome home, fellers,” said Freeman. “Welcome home.”

  Conway saw it and he despised everything about this world. Aside from his wife’s laugh and his daughter’s smile, duty was the hardest thing for him to resist. He sprinted down the ramp, leading his squad once again into the stinging embrace of a merciless universe.

  Chapter Three

  The grey shape of the Fangrin heavy cruiser Faxandil appeared on the sensors, disappeared and then returned once more. The sensor focus shifted and shifted again.

  “Dammit, I can’t get a steady image,” said Dominguez. “The conditions are changing faster than I can adjust.”

  “If we can’t even see our own warships, how are we expected to locate a Ragger vessel with active stealth?” asked Kroll.

  “We’ll do it,” said Shelton grimly. “I’m not about to let a storm get the better of me.”

  “Whoever’s working the sensors on the Faxandil, they did a good job to get even a hint of something,” said Dominguez.

  “This isn’t a ghost we’re hunting,” said Griffin. “The Raggers have got something down here with us.”

  “And I’m sure it’ll soon be joined by the rest of their fleet,” added Shelton.

  “Anything we encounter is assumed to be hostile, sir,” said Kenyon. “Those are the orders.”

  “Shoot first, ask questions later,” Griffin nodded.

  The two warships travelled steadily through the storm at an altitude of three thousand meters. The broken terrain underneath rose and turned into a range of low, rocky hills cased in ice. Griffin kept his eyes on the sensor feeds. If a Ragger ship was out there, Dominguez and Shelton would find it. Unfortunately, if the enemy started shooting first, it stood a good chance of landing a few shots. The Broadsword was already damaged from its recent encounter with Prime011 and Griffin didn’t want it to soak any more railgun slugs or missile strikes.

  “We’re five klicks beyond the initial sighting,” said Dominguez. “Maybe we should bank left and come around for another look. If the enemy ship decided to climb a few thousand meters, we’re not likely to find it either way.”

  “If the Ragger captain holds fire, do we have any chance at all of detecting his ship?” asked Griffin, following the suggestion to bank left.

  “We’re scanning for disturbances in the storm, sir. When ice and wind hit a spaceship hull, the effects are visible if you’re looking hard enough.”

  “If he flies fast, we’ll see him?”

  “Maybe even he’s standing still. We’ll need to be close.”

  It wasn’t the level of control Griffin wanted and he couldn’t think of a way to improve matters. “Any news on the battle network?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” said Kenyon. “Every ship in AF1 has descended to an altitude of ten klicks or lower, spread across approximately one quarter of Glesia’s surface. We’re waiting to see what the Raggers try next.”

  “Think they’ll come into the storm?” asked Kroll.

  “If they want that battleship badly enough.”

  For a short time, nothing much happened. Griffin flew the Broadsword along its new heading for fifteen klicks and then banked again.

  “Everything about this goes against the rulebook,” he said, his anger spilling over. “We should be flying erratically at speed to minimize the enemy’s railgun opportunities.”

  “I don’t recall ever seeing a copy of this rulebook everyone talks about, sir,” said Kroll.

  “I think I saw a copy in a toilet once,” said Kenyon. “A few of its pages had been ripped out.”

  “Yeah, I getcha,” said Griffin, his irritation subsiding.

  Another few minutes passed without a sighting and he tried to relax. Griffin was allowing the Raggers to dictate his mood and that was a sure-fire way to make a mistake. He breathed in slowly and deeply. It helpe
d a little.

  “Could be they moved off,” said Dominguez. “They could watch our ground deployment from anywhere within a few klicks of either the battleship or the Refuge 9 entry point.”

  “Draw me a circle on the tactical of the likely Ragger sensor range and we’ll move our search that way,” said Griffin. “Pass on the recommendation to the Faxandil.”

  Two red circles appeared on the tactical, one centered on the Iron Cell and the other on Refuge 9’s topside structure. Several AF1 warships were already within the area and Griffin looked for gaps where an enemy captain might hide.

  “Dammit,” he muttered. “What do they want?”

  “Hass-Tei-112 wants to get away from Glesia with something in his pocket, sir,” said Shelton.

  “He’s already seen that the battleship is immune to his weapons,” said Griffin.

  “Missiles, railguns and those nukes we fired,” said Jackson. “Incendiaries have not yet been tested.”

  “They aren’t likely to do any more damage than a missile.”

  “That doesn’t make a certainty, sir.”

  “Any bombardment of Refuge 9 stands an excellent chance of sealing it off,” said Griffin.

  “If Hass-Tei-112 is in it for the long haul, he might not care too much about that,” offered Dominguez. “He can dig his way inside later.”

  “True, but he’s held fire up until now.”

  Griffin snarled, his anger returning. The Raggers were going to act when it suited them. They weren’t going to leave Glesia and they weren’t going to let the allied fleet pull useful intel out of Refuge 9 or the battleship and escape with it. One way or another, they would attack.

  “Let’s find that enemy ship and blow the crap out of it,” he said.

  At that moment, Dominguez shouted in alarm. “Sir! A sighting!”

  “Where? Show me!”

  A Ragger warship, hidden by its stealth tech raced by, within a thousand meters of the Broadsword’s starboard flank. The enemy craft was travelling so fast its overheated front section glowed visibly and formed a red streak across the sensor feed. The rest of the ship was invisible except for the thick band of disturbed ice which followed in its wake.