The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6) (13 page)

“Honestly, sir, no, not if Alpha Two’s team keeps retreating. But I think I can get reinforcements to them before they’re entirely overrun.”

“I hope so,” said Calvin. “It sounds like your entire strategy depends on it.”

“It does.”

“Have you had much trouble from Enclave Strigoi?” asked Calvin. Visions of them wreaking havoc on the ISS
Trinity
filled his mind. The horror of them, even the memory of them, stirred something deep inside him, something he didn’t like. He blinked, clearing his mind of those dark memories.

“No, actually. Reports indicate that we’re up against Khan soldiers, hundreds of them. But no Strigoi have been sighted anywhere. I don’t believe any made it aboard the station. If there were any, they were killed in one of the transports you destroyed.”

That gave Calvin a warm feeling and he looked at Shen, remembering his Ops officer’s insistence they destroy two particular transports. Calvin was willing to bet that they had been carrying the Enclave Strigoi, and somehow Shen had been able to detect that. Even though Calvin could not explain exactly how that was possible.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I need to cut this short. My attention is needed here,” said Nimoux.

“Understood,” said Calvin. “Thank you for the update.”

“Yes, sir. Nimoux out.”

***

Ferreiro had managed to recover from the flashbang, and by the time his sight and hearing returned, a few seconds later, he found himself still intact and unharmed. Lance Corporal Ali had not been so lucky. Despite the protection of his helmet and flak jacket, the enemy fire had managed to find him while he’d been blinded by the flashbang; he’d taken two shots through the throat. As their group retreated, Ferreiro had gotten a good look at his comrade, and the gruesomeness of the sight stayed with him. With his death, that left the
Nighthawk
with one fewer soldier, now only Ferreiro, Rodriguez, Merrill, and Nimoux remained. All but the last of which were here, attempting to hold these corridors against an overwhelming force.

“Fall back!” came the order from Alpha Two
again
. This latest retreat meant they were falling back to corridor Charlie Five—the last defensive position remaining to them before being overrun.
And if we’re overrun here
, thought Ferreiro,
then Aleator One will be completely lost
. Nimoux had warned them not to let this position fall, should they be forced to reach it; now it was time to prove to the Khans what the defenders were made of, and to hold the line
here
, no matter what!

The remaining defenders set up, utilizing the available cover, and focusing their arms against the chokepoint ahead of them—where the enemy would shortly appear. Rodriguez went prone and lined up his carbine, Ferreiro decided to do the same, going prone right next to him.

“I guess this is it,” said Rodriguez. “We make our last stand here.”

“We’re not finished yet,” said Ferreiro. “Our story, yours and mine, it doesn’t end here.”

“How do you know that?” asked Rodriguez.

“I just do,” said Ferreiro, sighting down his carbine. A moment later the first enemy appeared, and Ferreiro squeezed his trigger.

“We have to hold here no matter what,” shouted Alpha Two. “They will try to storm this position; we must not let them!”

“Understood,” said one of the other Roscos. “Let the bastards come,” shouted another. “We’ll show those Khans what Roscos are made of!” said another.

At least they have spirit
, thought Ferreiro, knowing that spirit was about to be heavily tested.

Another individual Khan soldier appeared, this time Ferreiro held his fire, knowing the enemy expected the Roscos to waste their ammunition, everybody targeting the same thing. He needed to save the rest of his ammunition for when the enemy came in force. So, while the others opened fire, slaughtering the lone Khan that had appeared, Ferreiro spent those precious few seconds reloading his gun with a fresh magazine, even though his current one hadn’t gone completely dry.

After that, they came in a swarm. No doubt in an effort to overwhelm the defender’s last defensive position. Ferreiro opened fire, barely able to restrain his shooting to short bursts. There were so many of them, and they were everywhere. He quickly found himself squeezing the trigger tight, opening up fully automatic, burning through magazine after magazine as the enemy corpses piled the floor.

“They’re not going to get us here—” he began to say, then noticed some of the Khan soldiers, who were attempting desperately to hold the ground they gained, take aim at their prone position. “Look out!” said Ferreiro and he put his face against the deck, making himself as small a target as possible. He felt the impact of several bullets slam into his helmet. Fortunately, none of them were high-enough caliber to rip through the steel. When the enemy’s volley stopped, Ferreiro dared look up again. He saw them reloading, so he returned fire, this time remembering to aim for their centers of mass, and to utilize short bursts for accuracy. He dropped one, then two, then a third.

The Rosco soldiers, any who were still alive, continued to open fire on the Khans’ position, and the enemy soldiers were forced back into the narrow corridor they’d squeezed through in a desperate charge, and then back even further.

“Hold!” commanded Alpha Two.

Ferreiro looked around; there weren’t many defenders left. It was lucky that the Khans had taken such casualties that they’d had to retreat and regroup. But, Ferreiro was sure the enemy had retained sufficient numbers to attempt the same tactic again, trying to overrun a highly defensive position through sheer force of numbers. Only this time, they would likely succeed.

“We may need to move again,” said Ferreiro.

There was no reply.

“
Diego
, I said we may need to move again,” said Ferreiro, keeping two sharp eyes on the entryway from the corridor, where the Khans had emerged only moments before.
They’re coming again
, thought Ferreiro, I can feel it.

Diego Rodriguez still did not reply. Ferreiro dared a glance to his right, and, to his profound horror, saw that Rodriguez was dead.

“No!” shouted Ferreiro. “No, you can’t be—” it was impossible; it couldn’t be! He checked his friend for signs of life, checked his vitals, tried very hard to ignore the two obvious bullet holes that had taken Rodriguez in the face—one of them through the eye. “No! No! No!”

His screaming was interrupted by the sound of something metal bouncing down the hallway and into view.

“Flashbang!” yelled Alpha Two. “Cover your—” before he could say eyes, it went off in a loud explosion that left Ferreiro once again momentarily deaf. Fortunately, he’d buried his eyes, tightly closed, pressed deeply against Rodriguez’s corpse, and so when he opened them again, he retained his vision. Some of the Roscos had been just as lucky, while others looked lost and dazed.

“Here they come,” said Ferreiro, even though he could not hear himself. He knew the enemy would soon charge around that corner, now that their flashbang had gone off. Ferreiro stood up, screaming over the ringing in his ears, “Those bastards killed Diego! Let us go and meet them!”

Without realizing what he was doing, and against all of his best judgment, Ferreiro charged the enemy’s position. Like he’d expected, Khan soldiers began to appear around the corner; Ferreiro stopped only long enough to drop to one knee and shoot them dead. He fired until his magazine was dry, slapped in another, and then resumed his charge, all the while screaming and yelling.

“Kill me!” he shouted as he rounded the corner, unsure whether any support was following him. “Kill me, I dare you!”

He felt tears fill his eyes, tears of rage and grief and, most of all, disbelief.
I cannot live in this world
, he thought. He squeezed his trigger when he saw more enemies, this time aiming for their heads—wanting them to suffer the same fate that Rodriguez had suffered. “You bastards!” he shouted at them. “Kill me if you can! Kill me, you shits!” He continued charging, unsure why he was encountering so few Khan soldiers along the way.

No matter. He would kill every last one of them. And, hopefully, by the time he had made them pay dearly with their blood for what they had done, Ferreiro too would be resting peacefully in the great beyond…united with Diego Rodriguez once more.

Our story wasn’t supposed to end like this
, he thought, gritting his teeth. He saw more Khan soldiers; they seemed to have called a full retreat. That only made them easier targets. Ferreiro unloaded on them. “Take that, you goddamn bastards!” then, to another group, as he fired his last magazine dry, “Send me to Hell if you can! I’ll see you there!”

CHAPTER 07

Calvin anxiously awaited news from the station. As the
Nighthawk
made what felt like its millionth loop around Aleator One, the attitude on the bridge was one of tense silence. Each person remained at his or her post, keeping a shrewd eye on their monitors, except for Miles who had flipped his chair around to face away from the defense station. He was as eager as the rest of them to receive news regarding the battle between the Khans and the Roscos on the ground, but Miles seemed to be doing everything he could to appear not to care.

He leaned back in his wrong-facing chair, resting his head against arms that were casually folded behind his neck, and every now and then let out an annoyed exhale, as if trying to let them all know how supremely bored he was. Calvin, however, knew Miles well enough to see through the act, and knew it was merely a coping method to deal with his anxiety. Summers did not have such an insight, and she’d spent the past several minutes with her arms folded, glaring at Miles—who, for his part, had pretended not to notice. Calvin was about to say something to the both of them, to defuse the situation before Summers started trying to discipline Miles, when Sarah broke the silence.

“Message from the station,” she said. All chairs spun to face the helm.

“Patch it through,” said Calvin.

“To Lieutenant Commander Calvin Cross,” Nimoux’s voice came over the speakers, loud and clear. “This is Captain Nimoux reporting in, over.”

“Go ahead, Captain,” said Calvin, keen to hear what the Special Forces chief and 2O had to say.

“The battle for Aleator One and its satellite stations appears to be over,” said Nimoux. The sense of relief that filled the bridge was tangible.

“I assume that the Roscos won the battle,” said Calvin, “by the mere fact that you’re sending me this report.”

“Your deduction is correct,” said Nimoux. “Although it proved to be a near thing, the strategy I employed proved successful, and before my secondary group could be entirely overrun, the main Rosco force was able to reinforce them—having just defeated the entirety of the cargo bay’s invaders. This proved too much for the remaining Khan soldiers, who had sacrificed many lives trying to storm the well-defended corridors, and they retreated, rushing back to their transport. Anticipating this, I managed to have a third group cut off their escape, and all of the Khan soldiers have been killed or taken prisoner. At my recommendation, the Roscos are currently engaged in a full security sweep of their station, but I strongly doubt they will find any Khan holdouts anywhere.”

“That is excellent news,” said Calvin. “Can you give me a report on casualties or is that too premature?”

“For exact numbers, it is too premature. It appears that for each Rosco soldier killed, around three or four Khan soldiers died or were captured, but the exact numbers have not yet been determined.”

“And of our men?” asked Calvin.

“It is my sad duty to report that of the five of us who came aboard the station, two soldiers were lost in the action, and one seems to be emotionally compromised.”

“Who did we lose?” asked Calvin soberly.

“Lance Corporal Ali and Private First Class Rodriguez both perished in the battle. I recommend both for posthumous commendations of valor.”

“Noted,” said Calvin. “And you said someone is emotionally compromised?” Calvin hoped Nimoux did not mean himself.

“First Lieutenant Ferreiro appears to have taken the loss of PFC Rodriguez particularly hard. He has displayed an unusual amount of grief; for the time being, I’m unsure his judgment can be trusted.”

“That is unfortunate to hear,” said Calvin. “So that leaves you with what, one soldier who is fit for duty?”

“I believe Mr. Ferreiro will be able to return to duty in due course,” said Nimoux. “However, until such time, you are correct. Private Merrill, like the others, fought admirably in the battle—I am given to understand. And he remains emotionally stable and physically well, certainly well enough to remain on active duty. I have decided to award him a field promotion to PFC.”

“That is, of course, your prerogative,” said Calvin. He didn’t know the soldiers on a personal level, and considering where they came from—a gift from Raidan, who had later used his influence over the soldiers to try to take over the
Nighthawk
—Calvin had difficulty feeling any emotions at all for the sacrifices the
Nighthawk’s
soldiers had made. He felt bad about it, but that did nothing to alleviate his general apathy toward the loss of men who were, at best, reformed traitors. To him this only meant he would need to request two or three more Rosco soldiers from Grady.

“That completes my report.”

“Thank you, Captain.
Nighthawk
out.”

“So, what now?” asked Summers. “Is your gangster friend going to repair the ship and give us the supplies and personnel that we need?”

“He will if he knows what’s good for him,” said Calvin. “Sarah, contact Aleator One, and as soon they give us clearance, dock with the station.”

“Aye, aye, Calvin.”

“Well, for whatever it’s worth,” said Summers, still looking unhappy, “I remain against this course of action. I think it is unwise to give known criminals access to the
Nighthawk
.”

“Not known criminals,” said Calvin coyly. “
Suspected
criminals. What happened to the legal presumption of innocence, honestly?”

“You joke, but I’m being quite serious,” said Summers.

“I know that,” said Calvin. “And your objection is noted. But I’ve already made up my mind, and now we’ve earned—through blood—what we need to continue our mission. Grady will be make good on his word, and before you know it we’ll be long gone from Aleator, and you’ll feel all the better.”

“I just hope you’re right about those Rosco soldiers not having an outside agenda,” said Summers, giving him a cautionary look.

So do I…
thought Calvin, but he did not voice his minute doubt. Instead, he projected confidence. “It will work out perfectly,” he said reassuringly. “Besides, the Roscos will be under Nimoux’s watch. Can you think of anyone better in the Empire who you would trust more to supervise them?”

“No,” admitted Summers.

“Clearance granted,” said Summers. “I am moving us into position to dock with the station.”

As the
Nighthawk
turned, Calvin noticed Shen at the Ops station, he seemed unusually quiet, even for him.

“Shen,” said Calvin, getting the man’s attention.

“Yes?” Shen turned around.

“Good work. It appears those transports you identified were the only ones carrying any Enclave soldiers,” said Calvin. “Not having to deal with any Strigoi likely saved the station and won the battle. You are to be commended.”

Shen blushed. “Honestly, sir, it was just dumb luck; there was no way I could have known which transports had Remorii in them,” he said.

Calvin was not so sure. He remembered Shen’s eyes turning red, and how powerfully the man had insisted Miles change targets. Something had happened, even if Calvin could not explain it, not yet anyway, but something had happened.

“For that matter, it might not even have been luck,” said Shen. “It’s entirely possible that no Strigoi were part of the invasion whatsoever.”

“True,” admitted Calvin, but again, he doubted it. Although a natural skeptic, Calvin was almost certain there had been Enclave soldiers on those two transports, and somehow Shen had detected them, and because of that they’d been able to eliminate them in space rather than fight them on the ground—something that might have turned the Roscos into Strigoi themselves, and Aleator into a nest for the monsters rather than a den for the much more preferable crooks and villains of the galaxy.

“Sarah, dock the ship as soon as you’re able. In the meantime, I’ll be in my office,” said Calvin, and without further explanation, he left the bridge. He locked the door upon entering; although he knew this was an unnecessary precaution, he still preferred to keep his conversations with Grady completely private. He then input the proper codes and waited for the Rosco leader to answer. Calvin wasn’t sure if the man was available currently; he might be too busy coordinating the sweep and repair of his station. But Calvin hoped Grady could take the call, and, as it happened, Calvin’s luck stayed true.

“Grady here.”

“I have gotten a report from the ground that your battle is won,” said Calvin.

“Looks that way, yeah.”

“You know what that means,” said Calvin. “It’s time to discuss my payment. I delivered you a victory in space and my men helped you coordinate your victory on the ground. I believe that means you owe me.”

“You have served my family,” said Grady. “We are grateful for your service in our time of need. The requests you made, they are as good as yours.”

“I knew you were a man of reason,” said Calvin. “Only I have a few specific requests to make.”

“Let me see if I remember them,” said Grady. “Fix the hull breach in your ship, supply you with ammunition and missiles, give you medical supplies, food, and other inventory that you have requested, and provide twenty Rosco soldiers to accompany you on your super secret mission that you still refuse to tell me about. Is that about right?”

“Essentially right,” said Calvin. “But I also want three small detachable pods fixed to my outer hull.”

“Done.”

“And I need to make sure that the soldiers you are offering are the kind that I need. I need soldiers who will follow Captain Nimoux’s commands to the letter, loyally, and unquestioningly.”

“Of course. I’m sending you Roscos, not just hired thugs. They will do their job. In fact, I’m sending you some of my very best and bravest, because I feel we owe you a debt of gratitude that deep.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” said Calvin. “I also need those soldiers to be capable of work alongside aliens.”

“What? You have aliens in your crew?” Grady sounded disapproving.

“Only one. An elite soldier. I need to know that the men I’m bringing aboard can work with him, and not have it be a problem. You understand what I’m asking for, correct?”

“Yes, I understand. Look, I’ll be honest, these men aren’t going to do a song and dance when they find out they have to work with an alien. But they’ll do their job, and if that means working with an alien, then they will work with him. These are good, loyal, obedient men I’m giving you. They’re not about to shoot your alien in the back if that’s what you’re worried about. That good enough reassurance for you?”

“Yes,” said Calvin, knowing that was the best he was going to get. “That is good enough reassurance. Now, lastly, I need twenty-two soldiers, not twenty.”

“We had a deal, and the deal specified twenty,” said Grady.

“I know that,” said Calvin. “But I lost two of my men defending your station. As repayment for their blood, spilled in your corridors, I ask you to give me two more of your best, most loyal men, as a sign of good will.”

Grady seemed to think about it for a moment. Calvin hoped the way he had chosen to present this request would make Grady feel trapped by his own honor and reputation and effectively force him into going along with Calvin’s request.

“Very well,” said Grady at long last. “Anything else?”

“No, that should be everything,” said Calvin. “I’m glad we could come to terms.”

“As am I,” said Grady, with questionable sincerity. “As am I.”

***

She had been informed what Raidan might do, and she had thought his plan a long shot. Still, Kalila had ultimately made it possible for Raidan to roll the dice as he had. Kalila, in turn, had made certain to enable Raidan by keeping all forces still under her influence from interfering with what many had thought to be a bluff, and many others thought to be insanity. And perhaps it was an insanity of a sort, certainly it had been a desperate play, but considering the darkness of the hour, and the failure of all other efforts, Kalila had decided the risk to be worth it. Especially since she could entirely disavow herself from Raidan’s actions. If they succeeded, she would reap the rewards. If they failed, then the blame fell entirely upon Raidan’s head—Kalila would be seen as blameless.

Amazingly, and against all reasonable probability, Raidan’s efforts had born fruit. The disavowed, renegade captain, at the head of a forsworn, rogue agency—leading a battlegroup of starships, led by the dreaded ISS
Harbinger
—had proved credible in their threats. Enough so that Caerwyn’s own ministers and puppet Assembly had turned against him, delivering him into Raidan’s hands in order to stop what appeared to be an authentic attack on Capital World itself. Kalila could only speculate how far Raidan would have been willing to go—perhaps he had become desperate enough to lay waste to the entire planet, if necessary—whatever the case, Kalila was grateful that only minimal destruction had proven necessary. Yes, innocents had died. According to reports, the death toll was in the tens of thousands, and many of the planet’s most important and valuable structures had been reduced to rubble. Nevertheless, it had proven worth the expense, if the recordings were to be believed. And Kalila saw no reason to doubt them.