The Firestorm Conspiracy (18 page)

Addressing the rest of the bridge crew, she said, “I want sensors operating at maximum capacity. Even though we’re obscured from passing glances, we’re not invisible. I want to see the other ships before they see us. I also want all communications nearby the planet monitored. Again, if someone is talking about us or the transport, I want to know.”

“Commander?” asked Targersson. “Are you sure this is necessary? It’s going to take a lot of manpower to put personnel in every single OP.”

She froze. Targersson had just questioned her orders in front of the rest of the crew. “Yes, Mr. Targersson, I’m sure. That is, unless your observers have a more pressing task? After all, they do get paid to man the OPs.”

“No, sir,” Targersson replied, refusing to back down. “It just seems a waste to put everyone on high alert when there’s no sign of danger.”

“And we won’t see those signs unless we’re manning the OPs,” Santiago countered, losing patience with him. The bridge remained silent as the crew hung on every word while pretending to ignore the entire conversation.

She had to end things.

“Lt. Cmdr. Targersson, would you please be so kind as to join me in the captain’s office?” she asked as she rose from the command center and moved toward the door. She hadn’t made a request and they both knew it. If he came along agreeably she would be willing to show lenience. He’d lost a close friend in the explosion, and she suspected he was still struggling to come to terms with the loss.

“Sir--” he tried to stall.

“Now, Mr. Targersson.”

She walked into Thompson’s office, moved behind his desk, and whirled around to face Targersson as he entered.

“Yes, Commander?” he drawled as he stood in front of her.

Rebeccah stared at the insubordinate man standing across from her. At any other time, and any other situation, she would have been more lenient in her leadership style, but the last thing the crew needed, the last thing John needed, was a battle of wills taking place on the bridge.

“You will stand at attention when reporting to a superior officer,” she snapped.

His eyes widened, and he almost laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am, and you’d better be too,” she replied. “You’ve crossed a line here.” She placed both hands on the smooth surface of the desk. “I’ll say this one more time. You will stand at attention when reporting to a superior officer, Lieutenant Commander.”

The steel in her voice must have penetrated his veneer of nonchalance because he bit off his reply and stood to attention. “Lt. Cmdr. Targersson reporting as ordered, sir.”

She decided to throw diplomacy and courtesy out the window.

“Mr. Targersson, your comments on the bridge were deliberate attempts to undermine my authority as commander of this ship. If you have questions or concerns regarding my actions you will address them to me in private. If not, then you will keep your thoughts to yourself.

“I don’t need to remind you that we are in avian territory with no formal treaty in place to allow such an excursion. Our captain is on the planet below meeting with an avian agent who may or may not be what he says he is. Our duty lies in protecting the ship and her crew through vigilance and dedication. If you cannot perform your duties to the best of your considerable abilities, and that includes demonstrating loyalty and respect to your superiors, then you need to step aside.

“Have I made myself clear?”

She held her breath waiting for his reply. She needed his support to keep the crew together, but she wasn’t prepared to pay for it with the cost of her own position with the crew.

Targersson appeared to take a moment to think about his answer before responding.

“Aye, sir.”

Refusing to show any weakness before him, yet desperately needing to sit before her knees gave out from under her, she replied, “Dismissed.”

As soon as he left she collapsed into the chair and let out a shuddering breath.

* * * *

The transport swooped in low over the trees as the pilot searched for a clearing in which to land. The team in the aft compartment made their final equipment checks and grabbed their safety buckles for quick release.

“Sir, I’ve found a clearing approximately six hundred meters to the northwest of the RP. I’m going to set us down there.”

“Excellent. Inform the
Firestorm
of your plan and then give us a five second countdown to dropping the hatch,” John replied. He quirked his eyebrows as he addressed his fellow soldiers. “Let’s get this party started, shall we?”

Eight excited faces grinned back at him. “Yes, sir.”

The words hadn’t finished reverberating throughout the cabin when the pilot came over the intercom and said, “Hatch release in five, four…”

“Go on one.” Captain Thompson released his safety buckle as the identical sound echoed around him. “We are a ‘Go’ on one.”

“Three, two…”

He was almost as giddy as a new recruit. His pulse quickened with the pre-mission rush.

“One.” The hatch dropped with lightning speed.

“Go. Go. Go,” he ordered as his team spilled out from the transport and took up positions covering the rear of the ship. Weapons ready and facing into the forest, they secured the immediate surroundings and put their HUDs to use gathering information on the landing site.

“Sir,” Petty Officer Armstrong called. “I found what appears to be a game trail. It seems to head off in the direction of the RP.”

John approached the soldier from behind, scanned the trail with his own eyes as well as his HUD and came to the same conclusion. “Excellent.”

He opened a channel to the pilot. “Lt. Ryan, secure the transport. We are leaving the LP and moving southeast to the RP. Maintain flight readiness at all times.”

“Aye, sir,” replied Lt. Ryan.

He tapped Armstrong on the shoulder and said, “Get Sanchez and Kim on point and Henderson on rear. Let’s move out.”

Within seconds, the hatch was sealed and nine shapes drifted like smoke on the wind as they melted into the forest surrounding the landing point.

Rebeccah focused on her breathing while waiting for her pulse to return to normal. Where had Targersson’s belligerence come from?

When she’d served as the lead diplomatic officer they’d never once come close to a disagreement or argument on or off duty. He’d always been polite, if standoffish, and she believed they had a decent professional rapport. All that changed when she became XO. Now he was surly and withdrawn around her. He avoided sitting near her in the mess, and rarely made eye contact, let alone smiled. She’d chalked his change in behavior up to losing his friends, but now she had doubts.

If he had a problem with women in authority he’d have to suck it up, because she wasn’t going anywhere.

She smiled to herself as she tapped her fingers on the desktop. She realized she’d made a mistake when she gave command up so long ago.

Rebeccah frowned as her thoughts returned to Targersson’s uncharacteristic behavior.

She’d be damned if she were going to let--

The proximity alarm brought Rebeccah out of her reverie. She flew out the door.

“Report,” she called as she slid into the captain’s chair.

“One of the OPs is reporting an avian vessel approaching--fast, sir,” said Targersson as he transferred the OP sensor display onto the viewscreen. “Neither the database nor the observers have been able to identify the type, but its size and velocity indicate a cruiser at the least.”

“Prepare to leave the polar orbit. I want to get the planet between us and them. If they haven’t seen us, we’ll stay hidden, if they have, moving will buy us some time to pull a few tricks out of our sleeves.”

“Aye, sir, leaving geosynch now.”

Cerces III began to rotate on the screen as the
Firestorm
drifted away from the pole and toward the far side of the planet.

“Launch the first flight of flyers and get them under our belly. I want them available when we meet this ship. Those minutes getting out of the hangar may be crucial. Once the first flight is out, scramble the second and have them on a five minutes to ‘Go’ state.”

“Aye, sir,” replied Targersson. “Launching flyers now.” Twelve tiny fighting craft silently streamed past the cameras monitoring the exterior of the main hangar. The crafts banked sharply to port, and tucked up under the
Firestorm
, ready to execute whatever sequence the tactical officer deemed necessary.

“And while you’re at it,” she added, “get the third flight onto alert. I want them ready to launch within five minutes of sending out the second flight.”

Targersson scowled and she thought he was going to question her actions again. After giving her a considering glance, he returned his gaze to his console and replied, “Aye, sir. Second flight is on a ‘five-to-Go’ and the third is dressing to alert status.”

“Inform the transport and the team of the approaching ship. Order the transport to prepare for a hot retrieval and return,” she said, dreading having to stave off enemy fire while trying to get the transport back on board. The transport was designed to take considerable fire, but it was slow and cumbersome--a perfect target for enemy fighters and cannons.

“Aye, sir.”

Rebeccah gripped the arm of the chair as she waited for the other vessel to reveal its intentions.

* * * *

John and his team approached the clearing with caution. Apparently empty, the team conducted a quick search and took up a position near a large rock on the northern end of the open area. He crouched and leaned against the side of the boulder as he studied the landscape around them.

The immediate area consisted of forest, but much warmer than the temperate ones back home. The foliage surrounding the RP was lush and dense. The sounds of birds and other life forms echoed and called around the clearing, masking the sounds of anyone who might decide to approach.

He hated being first to an RP. The waiting always made him feel vulnerable. The message from the
Firestorm
didn’t help either. With a potentially hostile avian vessel entering Cerces system space, his time on the planet was running out.

John stood, taking care to keep his hands visible at all times as six figures entered the clearing from the far side. Tall and graceful, the avians fanned out and took positions opposite John’s team. They were almost seven feet tall, with strong muscular legs and slender arms. He studied their broad hips, designed for chasing down prey, and the curve of their backs, which flowed seamlessly into whip-like tails.

Nowhere did the avians resemble predatory birds more strongly than in their facial features. The avian in the lead had fine cheekbones that flowed into a long, delicate jaw. A high, almost hairless, forehead framed the large, deeply set eye sockets. The avian’s eyes were deep ebony, so dark the irises weren’t visible. Framed by the tan, green, and terra cotta mottling to the skin, the eyes with their long thick lashes were the avians’ most startling feature.

His HUD readout showed an increase in heart rate and respiration among his crew; a natural reaction to seeing the aliens in person for the first time.

The smallest avian nervously tugged on his shirt front and began to walk forward. John matched his pace and soon stood a few yards away, facing a young avian whose dark eyes showed only fear and awe.

“I’m… I’m Kree,” he peeped, as he glanced at the troops behind him.

“I’m Captain John Thompson,” he said, calmly.

“You… you’re male?” asked Kree, as he ran his eyes over John’s figure.

“Yes,” replied John.

Kree peered over his shoulder again and a chill crept up John’s spine. Without saying a word, he accessed his HUD and ordered his team to take aim.

“I have a message for you,” Kree’s voice quavered.

“My government was hoping for more than a message,” John answered.

Kree met John’s gaze after turning back a third time. He let out a soft trill as his face shifted into an expression of surprise. John’s gaze followed Kree’s as the avian gaped at his own chest. A bright orange flower blossomed in the centre of his shirt and quickly spread. He let out another trilling gasp and collapsed to the ground, dead at John’s feet.

They played a dangerous game of cat and mouse around the planet. The pilot at the helm used all his skills and training to keep the
Firestorm
out of the direct line of sight of the avian vessel. After several tense minutes the helmsman reacted with confusion.

“It’s gone. Sir, the avian vessel has disappeared,” he cried. Ragged cheers erupted around the bridge.

Rebeccah turned to Targersson at tactical and ordered, “Report.”

“One moment the ship was on the radar, and the next it disappeared,” he replied. He scanned the data streaming across his console and said, “Our sensors show the avian vessel made a minor course correction away from the planet, and then nothing.”

Sudden understanding froze her blood and trapped her breath in her throat.

“Helm, full stop and hard to starboard.” She gestured at Targersson and shouted, “Bring the cannons online now.”

The
Firestorm
turned her nose so she faced away from the planet in time to absorb the first barrage of fire from the avian battle cruiser as the massive ship dropped out of trans-light less than a kilometer off what would have been their starboard side had they not turned their heavily armored bow in time.

“Flyers are out,” Targersson reported as the twelve craft shot out from under the ship and flew at speed toward the attack cruiser. “Launching the second flight on your signal, sir.”

“Evasive maneuvers. Keep our forward armor plating facing those cannons,” Rebeccah ordered as the ship rocked again. “Where are our cannons?”

“Cannons coming online now, sir,” Targersson replied. “The first blast knocked out the primary relay system. It took a moment to switch to manual.”

“Sir,” the helmsman reported. “Raptors approaching fast.”

“Launch the second flight. Get those raptors off our ship,” Rebeccah called as she scanned the readouts on her console. “Prepare the third flight for launch and scramble the fourth. This is going to take everything we’ve got.”