Point of Origin (War Eternal Book 4) (29 page)

She made it down the corridor and then turned and raced to the emergency access stairwell. She could hear the small legs on metal that signaled the creatures approach, and she looked up to see the pulsing dendrite pressed against the top of the compartment. Of course, the Primary could see her. Now that it was fully active it could sense them wherever it had a dendrite, which is why there had been no break for them in hours. It could have stopped giving chase to the others and gone after her, but had chosen not to.

It didn't fear her. Not really. She had tried to overpower it once before and failed. What reason did it have to think she wouldn't fail again, especially now that it was even more powerful? Keeping them away from the core was an added layer of security with the benefit of possibly ridding itself of them. It was a logical maneuver.

She climbed the narrow stairs, coming out as close to the core as she had been since the first day. She could feel the energy of it from here, tingling against the skin and raising the fine hairs on her arms. She was almost there.

She began running down another corridor, pulling to a stop when she heard footsteps up ahead. She held her spear ready for whatever was coming.

The figure crossed the intersection in front of her. The lighting was dim, and it was impossible to make the identity out from the distance. She ran to the end of the corridor, turning left to chase after them. She felt a pull as the Goliath dropped out of hyperspace.

She felt something else immediately after. It was large and heavy, and it slammed into the side of the head.

Mitchell adjusted his position in the cockpit of the mech, one of Digger's Franks, checking one of the series of wires that extended out from the exoskeleton he was wearing and plugged into a custom-made board that had been jury-rigged to the CAP-N behind his head. He pressed against it, feeling it click into place. Then he reached forward and picked up the helmet that would deliver the systems updates the CAP-N normally sent through the neural implant to the back of his eyes.

They were ten minutes out of the first drop point on their journey to FD-09. It was step one of the plan Mitchell had devised with the help of his most trusted people: Aiko, Major Long, Teal, Digger, Ming, and Lieutenants Lewis and Atakan. He had wished more than once that Steven was present during the planning meetings, along with Millie, Calvin Hohn and even Captain Alvarez and Singh. His experience at strategizing a large-scale assault was limited to simulation and speculation, and he could have used their combined wealth of knowledge.

As it was, he was hoping the Rigger's superior numbers would be enough to win the day, and maybe even garner a surrender before too much damage had been done. They had reviewed the readings from the Carver's first drop near FD-09. While the planet was surprisingly well-defended considering the size of its population, the Rigger's fleet outnumbered the Federation nearly four to one.

It gave him hope, but it was also a cause for trepidation. The fleet was intended to be used against the Tetron, the enemy, not to attack and kill other humans. They had tried to design a strategy that would minimize casualties on both sides, and they had failed to come up with anything that didn't leave too much to chance. They were only going to have one opportunity to capture Pulin, a single shot at securing a possible end to a war that had never seen one before.

If the Federation forces refused to surrender, it was going to get bloody on both sides.

Ming had told him to expect the worst.

Mitchell leaned forward in the suspension rig that kept him somewhat secured and upright in the mech's cockpit, reaching out and flipping the switch that would start the mech's reactor. A loud hum followed immediately after, shrinking back to a nearly inaudible pulsing a moment later. The HUD embedded in the helmet lit up, showing him the internal status of the Frank. This particular unit had been outfitted with a heavy laser on both forearms, as well as a group of four separate missile batteries, with two on the upper chest and two climbing off the shoulders. A pair of heavy, fixed chain guns sat in the abdomen while a large, disposable railgun was strapped to the large mech's back. Inside the mech, Mitchell had grips at the end of each hand that contained the triggers for each weapon. It was up to him to remember which one fired what.

The mech itself was tall and chunky, thickly armored and slower than Mitchell would have preferred. The Rigger's insignia - a skull in a ring of fire - had been hastily painted to the top of its left leg.

 
"Ares online," Mitchell said, opening a channel to the rest of the team.
 

They would be dropping a full squad of five mechs, along with one-hundred-fifty ground-pounders in SCE exosuits to the surface of FD-09 while the fleet worked to keep the rest of the planet's defenses occupied. It would be up to the ground team to reach the research facility, break through the defenses, and get inside to search for Pulin.
 

"Alpha squad, report."

"Ghost online," a woman's voice said from the cockpit of a Dominator they had taken from Hell.

"Psycho online," a man said, piloting the second of their Franks.

"Shogun online," a second man reported from one of the other Dominators.

"Raptor online," the final pilot, a female, said from the seat of a Knight they had transferred from one of Tio's other ships.

Mitchell had spoken to all of the commanders in Tio's fleet, and these four had been picked out as the best mech jockeys they had. He had been sure to meet each one as they had been transferred over to the Carver, getting to know them before they went into battle together. Each had their own story to tell, but the unifying commonality was that they were damn good manual pilots with a lot of experience in drop and retrieve missions like this one.

"Exo platoon leaders, report," Mitchell said.

"First platoon, ready."

"Second platoon, ready."

"Third platoon, ready."

"Fourth platoon, ready."

"Fifth platoon, ready."

Like the mech pilots, the soldiers had been selected by their starship commanders. Platoons one and two were both full contingents from a single ship, while three, four, and five were made up of smaller squads from multiple ships. Each of them had spent the time in hyperspace getting to know one another and going through a few basic drills.

"Major Long, status," Mitchell said.

"Corleone is fully loaded and ready to go, sir," Long replied. "You have the pills I gave you?"

Mitchell reached into the front pocket of his flight suit. If what Digger called the 'mimic system' were active, the mech would have made the same motion. He found the two pills Long had provided, the drugs that helped with combat focus. Long had given most of the remainder of his stash to each of the mech pilots, saving the last two for himself. Mitchell had considered taking them before the drop, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to meet Liun Pulin with his inhibitions compromised.

"Lieutenant Lewis, what's our ETA?" he asked, opening a channel to the Carver's bridge.

"Six minutes, Colonel," Lewis replied.

"Roger."

Mitchell leaned back in the rig, letting it support him. He knew he was crazy to be going down in the mech when he should have been flying the S-17. It was stupid to keep their most powerful weapon out of the fight, and he was the only one who could operate it. At the same time, he needed to be on the ground. He needed to be the one to meet the Knife's brother. They had gone through too much to get to this point for him to be chasing Federation starfighters around. Not to mention, for all the experience the other mech jockeys had he was still a former member of Greylock company. He was the most combat-tested soldier in the fleet.

He breathed in slowly, feeling his heart thumping in anticipation. He held the breath for a few seconds before letting it go, pausing at the exhale before breathing in again. The last time he had done this had been on Liberty, and that had gone as poorly as anyone might have imagined. He fought to quell his fears that the same thing would happen again. He told himself they had the superior numbers and the element of surprise.

The minutes passed in a hurry. Mitchell felt the change as the Carver dropped from hyperspace.

"Lewis, open a channel to the fleet and pass me through," he said. "Send an EMS with the Carver's timestamp to ensure the clocks are synchronized."

"Channel open, sir," Lewis replied. "Sending EMS."

"Attention Riggers," Mitchell said. "This is Colonel Williams. Your Commanding Officer should have gone over the details of our mission with you by now. Hopefully, they also explained how important this attack is to the survival of not only the fleet but the rest of the human race. Somewhere on FD-09 is a man who may hold the key to stopping the Tetron invasion cold and ending this war before billions more lives are ruined. Each of you holds a key to making this mission a success. You know your role. Do it with courage. Do it with conviction. Do it with strength and determination. Riiiggg-ahh."

Mitchell paused to allow the crews of the ships to respond in kind. He couldn't hear them, but he could imagine each of them returning the call, or stomping their feet in the fashion of Tio's militia.

"Major Long?"

"Corleone is ready for departure, sir."

"Lewis, open the hangar."

"Roger."

Mitchell couldn't see anything that was happening outside of the jumpship. He couldn't see anything but the metal catwalks and service equipment that ran around the sides of the drop module. Unlike the insertion on Liberty, the mechs would be going down together in a single container as if they were nothing more than massive grunts.

"Here we go, Colonel," Long said.
 

Mitchell felt the slightest shudder as the Corleone released from the docking clamps, the escaping atmosphere pulling the ship towards the vacuum beyond. He could imagine the scene as if he were watching it from outside the Carver. The Corleone clearing the hangar in the midst of the large fleet, Major Long adding thrust and getting them up and away from the others.

"We're in position, Colonel," Long said a minute later. "Coordinates are set."

"Clocks are synchronized, sir," Lewis said. "Coordinates are set."

"Let's get him," Mitchell said, imagining the scene in his mind as he felt the Corleone move into hyperspace.

The jump lasted all of ten minutes. The only reason they had stopped was so the Corleone could exit the Carver and head to a slightly separate spot in the universe.

Mitchell felt the Corleone drop back into the universe.

"Scanning the surface," Major Long said, his voice calm despite the hyperdeath.
 

Their entire plan would never be more vulnerable to failure than it was at this moment when every ship in their fleet was frozen in place.

"There's only one structure on FD-09," Long said. "That has to be it." He paused a moment. "Picking up incoming two minutes out."

Two minutes. The Federation force was too far away to stop the Corleone before it reached the atmosphere.

"This is Teal. We've made contact with a Federation battlegroup. They're firing on us. All starships, return fire at will and launch starfighters."

"Beginning descent, full power," Long said.
 

Mitchell couldn't feel the added velocity as Long sent the Corleone diving towards the planet's surface. Even though he knew there was a battle in progress on the other side of the planet from where the jumpship had appeared, everything was calm and quiet in the mech module.

For now.

"Firefly, you're out of position, clear the firing lane," Lieutenant Lewis said over the comm. "Pogacha, watch your six. Squadron One is clear."

"How are we doing out there, Valkyrie?" Mitchell asked.

"Two minutes to drop, sir."

"Teal, sitrep."

"They're coming on strong, Colonel. Skylark is dark, so is the Bounty. We've taken out three smaller patrollers, but one of their battleships is equal to twenty of our motley starships."