Gott Mit Uns (Terran Strike Marines Book 5) Read online

  Chapter 2

  The briefing room of the battleship Ardennes had a bad air to it. Hoffman, standing in a back row with his team, had felt this before. He looked over the assembling officers and senior enlisted from the Navy, Rangers, Strike Marines and a few armor and remembered the same quiet and the muffled voices…the fear.

  It was like this before the Xaros laid siege to Earth during the Ember War. The approaching dwarf planet the aliens had sent from Barnard’s Star was just beyond the solar system when the alert went out. Abaddon, the hollowed-out planetoid, carried a massive swarm of drones and unleased devastation across Earth and its weak hold on the other planets.

  Hoffman shivered, remembering his fight against just a single drone aboard Kid’ran’s Gift. That encounter still gave him nightmares…back then it had been billions of drones. Earth had survived, but just barely.

  He looked at Steuben, dressed in simple fatigues like the rest of the team, and considered asking about another Karigole, one named Lafayette, that had sacrificed himself to save Earth and destroy the bulk of the Xaros force.

  One of Steuben’s hands was mechanical, with five fingers instead of four to match his natural appendage. Rumor had it that the prosthetic had belonged to the mostly cyborg Lafayette and Steuben wore it to honor the dead.

  Hoffman checked his watch, then inhaled to speak.

  “Is it me,” Duke rumbled, “or do we as a team have some sort of force field around us?”

  “You mean how no one wants to sit within a row of us?” Garrison asked. “I blame Gor’al. Just look at him.”

  “I am considered quite attractive for my species,” the Dotari said. “I have it on good authority your face resembles a can of hammered cow anuses.”

  Gunney King stifled a rare laugh.

  “Not bad, buddy.” Duke bumped fists with Gor’al and they made explosion noises.

  “Ha ha,” Garrison deadpanned. He chirped and clicked his tongue unevenly.

  “I didn’t know you had a sister,” Gor’al said, “or that she’d do such an act with a furry ground mammal.”

  “No, I said your sis—”

  “You did not,” Gor’al said, clicking his beak.

  “Stow it,” King growled. “Lieutenant…I hate to admit it, but the room is filling up fast and we do seem to have a…bubble around us.”

  “We have enough on our plate to worry about before being popular is a concern.” Hoffman crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re a team with a Dotari, Karigole and a doughboy. We’re fairly unique so far as Strike Marines go.”

  “That is not why the others are avoiding us,” Steuben said quietly. He touched the Breitenfeld patch on his shoulder. “Many of them seem critical of us as Valdar’s Hammers.”

  “Now that’s some bull,” Garrison said. “We weren’t even on the ship when the Ibarrans captured it. We took out the Kesaht dreadnought and saved the colony on Syracuse. Did they not get the memo about that?”

  “And the Kid’ran’s Gift,” Booker frowned. “Saved all the Dotari.”

  “Yes,” Gor’al nodded furiously. “Especially that.”

  “Listen to me, kids,” Duke grumbled. “All it takes is one screw up to erase every ‘attaboy’ you’ve ever had in the Corps. And losing the Breitenfeld is one hell of a thing to have tacked onto your name.”

  “It wasn’t our fault,” Garrison said, lifting his palms up. “We weren’t there. If we had been, then—”

  “Is this like that one parable?” Gor’al asked. “The one with the human who had a long, distinguished career, then he had relations with a single goat. From then on he was the goat flouncer. Flosser?”

  “Yup.” Duke raised an eyebrow. “We may be goat flossers forever.”

  “I’m going to have to move my kids into home school,” Max said. “My wife already wants to kill me.”

  The doors at the back of the conference room opened and a pair of black-armored Rangers stepped through. Their white skull-shaped visors seemed to glower as they looked around.

  A Navy admiral entered, followed by three men and one Dotari female in simple gray coveralls. Hoffman went to attention automatically, recognizing Admiral Ericson of the Normandy. She was blond, with a few strands of white mixed into her tightly styled hair and moved with purpose down the aisle.

  She did a double take at Hoffman’s team, then stopped on his row.

  “Steuben,” she bowed slightly, “do you remember me?”

  “Executive officer of the Breitenfeld,” the Karigole said. “I remember you well.”

  “Former,” Ericson smirked, “that was many years ago. You know the Iron Dragoons?” She raised a hand to the four standing with her. One, a captain named Gideon with scars running down the side of his face, struck Hoffman as being more intimidating outside his armor than in it. Behind him was a thin man with his hands clasped behind his back and a still face, a well-built young man with an impressive head of dark hair, and the Dotari female.

  Gor’al tweeted something and the female clicked back.

  “We’ve trained with them,” Steuben said. “This is our first meeting…unplugged.”

  “Hard to get our suits in here,” Gideon said.

  “Hoffman,” said the admiral, narrowing her eyes slightly, “Admiral Valdar spoke highly of you…before.”

  “We’re honored to serve with him and aboard the Breitenfeld,” Hoffman said. “Gott mit uns.”

  “Gott mit uns,” said Ericson as one corner of her lips tugged into a brief smile. “I’ll not have a hero of the Ember War in the cheap seats for this briefing. Hoffman. Steuben. Join me.”

  “I’ll take notes.” King nudged the lieutenant forward.

  Hoffman took a hesitant step forward, then he and Steuben followed the admiral down the aisle. The team looked hard at the skull plugs in the back of each of the armor soldiers’ skulls, their connection to the battle suits they brought to battle.

  “I still feel like a goat flosser,” Garrison said. “Pat on the head from her or not.”

  “You flirting with that other one?” Duke asked Gor’al.

  “Never,” said the Dotari as the skin around his eyes flushed. “She’s joined to Man’fred Vo. He made the challenge to be with her. His clan would come for me if I offend him.”

  “But if there wasn’t any joining, you’d go after it, right?” Duke asked.

  “Not everyone is a horn dog like you, you dirty old man,” Booker said.

  “Her name is Cha’ril and she is out of my league,” Gor’al said. “I am but a lowly Strike Marine. She is armor. She joined with a fighter pilot, whose father is a war hero.”

  “What, you’re going to settle for a chubby Dotty with a bunch of tattoos?” Garrison asked. “You can do better than that.”

  “Not that you could,” Duke said, “with a face like a beat-up can of cow anuses.”

  “We’ll hit the bars after this mission,” Garrison said as he rubbed a middle finger against the side of his face closest to Duke. “See who’s got a…cow-anus face.”

  “You know how that went last time.” Duke tapped a pocket on his shoulder, touching the can of chewing tobacco inside.

  “You’re known as a good tipper and a degenerate,” Garrison sniffed.

  “Jesus. Why don’t you two just whip them out and get it over with?” Booker rolled her eyes.

  “You offering to judge?” Garrison asked.

  “Sounds like it,” Duke said.

  “I hate you both. So much,” Booker said and clenched her fists.

  The auditorium lights rose and fell several times, and the seats around Valdar’s Hammer filled up as the briefing was about to begin.

  “I feel good about this one,” Max said. “Really good.”

  “You are a shit liar.” King shook his head. “You know that?”

  ****

  Booker had sat through her share of operational orders before, the long, drawn-out affair of explaining most every relevant detail to an operation. They were almost a
lways dull, tedious affairs barely relevant to her as a Strike Marine medic. She was aware of how important it was for everyone involved in an operation to be aware of the objective and the commander’s intent, but listening to supply statuses and sortie generation rates always left her bored.

  She knew her mission and would rather spend the time perfecting her gear and getting a bit of rest than listening to minutiae.

  Opal, sitting next to her, watched the holo screen next to the speaking Admiral Ericson with total intensity. The doughboy barely even blinked as timetables and maneuver graphics were displayed.

  “Opie,” Booker whispered, “Opie, you getting all this? There will be a test later.”

  Opal didn’t acknowledge her. One eye twitched rapidly.

  “Opal?” Booker touched his forearm. No response. She gave him a quick shake and his hand snapped open and shut, like he was suffering from some sort of palsy.

  Booker reached to her other side and tapped King on his leg.

  “What?” the Gunney asked, his voice muffled.

  “It’s Opal.” She looked at King and then down to the front of the auditorium where Hoffman was. “I think he’s—”

  “Where sir?” Opal asked, a little too loudly.

  “What?” Booker snapped her head back around and found Opal staring at her, the nose of his Cro-Magnon features flaring.

  “Where sir?” he asked again, and several shushes came from those around them.

  “He’s…” Booker’s face flushed with embarrassment and King gave her a look that promised further discussion later. “Just stay quiet, Opal.”

  Opal nodded slowly, then looked down at the hand that had trembled. He tapped meaty fingertips against his thumb, then clenched his fist so tight his knuckles cracked.

  “You good, Opal?” Booker asked.

  Opal’s eyes darted from side to side, then locked on Booker. “Unit status report ready for imprint,” he said.

  “Imprint? You mean Hoffman?”

  “Where…sir?” Opal craned his neck up.

  King elbowed Booker as the holo screen switched to a miles-long Toth dreadnought. The hull looked like it was covered in a coral reef, irregular with haphazard energy cannon emplacements around the ship. Booker swallowed hard. This was important.

  That ship was their mission.

  “The Last Light,” Admiral Ericson said. “Last seen in combat against the Cyrgal in the Ouranos system where it took damage. Intelligence believes it to be the last Toth capital ship in action, and it is a priority-one target. There is a high probability that the Kesaht supreme leader, Lord Bale, is aboard. Once the task force has gained local void superiority, tactical insertion torpedoes carrying Strike Marine and armor teams will board the vessel and proceed to employ explosive devices that will disable or destroy the ship.”

  “That’s me, baby.” Garrison tapped his chest.

  “Boarding teams will be recovered once their mission is complete,” Ericson said. “See annex Charlie, addendums nine through fourteen.”

  “Seems a bit glossed over,” Max said under his breath.

  “We’ve been rehearsing it for days,” Gor’al hissed. “Have you not been paying attention?”

  “I will be followed by Admiral Lettow,” Ericson said, “mission commander. Primo Victoria.” She finished with the motto of her ship, the carrier Normandy, and left the stage.

  “Almost done,” Duke said with relief.

  “Got someplace to be?” King asked as Admiral Lettow made his way slowly and deliberately to the lectern. Booker knew of the commander from his contact with both the Ibarrans and the Kesaht.

  There’d been rumors of some sort of brief alliance with the Ibarrans on Balmaseda, which Booker found hard to believe. Whispers of an execution aboard his ship, the Ardennes, had circulated amongst the lower ranks, with no confirmation or denial from anyone higher in the chain of command.

  Since she and the Hammers had transferred to the Ardennes in anticipation of this mission, the crew had nothing but respect and regard for Admiral Lettow.

  “Ice Claw’s calling to me, Gunney,” Duke said.

  Lettow gripped the side of his lectern and squeezed hard. He looked across the room, his eyes seeming to lock with each individual.

  “Captains, ground force commanders, armor,” he began, “Ericson just laid out the operational plan for the assault on the enemy’s capital, which we’ve learned they call Kesaht’ka. Roughly translates as ‘Heart of Unity.’” He tapped a fingertip to a screen and a blue-green planet with a single large moon appeared in a holo screen.

  “Thanks to fine intelligence work and armor terminating a Risen commander on Umbra,” he said, “we know where the Kesaht home system is. Relic light, several hundred years old by the time it reached one of our telescopes, shows the world to be inhabitable and Earth-like. The system is not within the network of Crucible gates created by the Xaros, but beyond their advance before we put an end to them during the Ember War. Best assessment is that a Toth overlord jumped to the planet after the war, before the Qa’Resh disabled all the jump engines, and proceeded to build a Crucible gate of his own in the Kesaht system.”

  “I’ve never invaded an entire planet before,” Garrison muttered. “Should be easy.”

  “But now we’ve got them,” Lettow said, and there were a number of enthusiastic remarks from the crowd. “And now the Terran Union will bring this war to an end. The Kesaht have pushed everything they have in their attack on us. They’re overextended and vulnerable. The planners down in Camelback Mountain have pulled together every ship—not already on the line—and together we will be the hammer that crushes the Kesaht.

  “Mission is simple. Jump in. Seize the Crucible and proceed to destroy everything they have in space. Star bases. Shipyards. Every last damn satellite. Once we hold the orbitals, we will demand surrender.”

  “And if they refuse?” came from a woman in a gray uniform, armor skull plugs visible on the back of her head.

  “Intelligence is positive the Toth leading the Kesaht is a coward,” Lettow said. “He’ll accept any terms that don’t involve his death. President Garret wants the Kesaht out of our space and their threat over. Then we will take the battle to the Vishrakath. Make them pay for the lives lost on Novis.

  “Let me play devil’s advocate,” he said. “Yes, this is our entire reserve force. Yes, the Vishrakath are attacking Earth with mass drivers sent through off-set gates. But the solar system’s defenses are holding. What happened to Iapetus—while tragic—was a fluke. We will smash the Kesaht before they and their allies know what’s hit them. We have the element of surprise, and they have taken massive casualties in the past few weeks attempting to take our colonies. This is the turning point of the war, and we can end it with one swift stroke.”

  Booker’s lips pulled into a frown. She looked at her team and saw no enthusiasm on their faces.

  “Is there going to be a Saint Kallen service?” Duke asked.

  “When did you get religious?” Garrison asked.

  “Now. Just now,” Duke said.

  “If there are no questions, then return to your stations for final prep. Adversor et admorsus.” Lettow ended with the Ardennes’s motto: Resist and bite.

  Chapter 3

  Max touched the hard, thin case in his thigh pocket as he glanced over his shoulder. He was in the deep decks of the Ardennes, amongst the dusty, little-used section of the ship where much of the automation took place. It smelled of ozone and stale air, the hum of electricity and crackle of overworked connections hinting that he was in the right place.

  He double-checked the number etched onto a door, made sure none of the crew were around to see him, and slipped into the utility closet. Inside were banks of servers, a sheen of dust over all the ports.

  All but one labeled SL with a grease pencil.

  “There we go.” Max sat down, took the case out of his pocket and flipped over the cover of a tablet. He attached a wire to the server, swiped a finge
r up the screen to activate it and ran a macro command. Lines of code raced across the screen.

  “Come on, come on…you know what I paid for this hack?” Max bit his lip as a ring tone warbled from the tablet.

  A woman, her hair a jumble and her eyes bleary with sleep, wrinkled her nose at the camera.

  “I swear to God if this is about my car warranty, I’ll—Max? Max is that you?”

  “Hey, Gina. Glad no one else is calling you this late at night. Guess the kids are asleep too?”

  “Holy—I didn’t know you were going to call. I’d have them up and…wait a second. Carly! Carly, get out of bed and bring your brothers and sisters!” The screen went to a jumble as Max’s wife rolled out of bed.

  “Need you to hurry, baby. Smoke lines don’t last that long.” Max grimaced at a timer on the screen and tapped fingertips against the side of the tablet.

  “No,” a child whined. “It’s Saturday and you said—”

  “It’s your father,” Gina said.

  A little girl sat bolt upright from bed, her face lit up by Gina’s phone.

  “Daddy?” The girl rubbed an eye and smiled.

  “Sweetie, you helping your mom out around the house?” Max asked.

  “I have to. No school because…” the girl yawned, “because all the drills and rocks and stuff.”

  “No school? Why aren’t you going to school?” Max shifted against the servers banks.

  “You got to say hi, now go get the others.” Gina shooed the girl away and came back onscreen. “The damn aliens keep throwing asteroids at Earth. After Iapetus got hit, parents stopped trusting the schools to get the kids into the bomb shelters. The kids are scared to death every time the warnings come up on screen. Nothing’s made it through to Earth yet but…where are you?”

  “Still in Sol,” Max said. “Wait—are you in Phoenix? I thought I told you to use the Corps’ relocation program and get somewhere safer.”

  “You want to come back here and move five kids? Phoenix has so many space guns over it that this is the safest place to be. You want us in some shithole like Kansas with nothing overhead?”