Operation Breakout (The Sleeping Legion Book 3), page 2
While her regiment moved out, Thorn took up a position on her flanks, chatting with her like it was a normal Sunday stroll.
“Ma’am, if I may be so bold, you’ve got to fake it till you make it. Trust your NCOs. Most of us are too old to get promoted into officerhood in this new Legion, and we wouldn’t want to be officers anyways. If you’re ready to listen, we’ll be willing to teach.”
“I’m listening,” said Hayley.
“Taking Scipio’s regiment was a ballsy move, but you can’t just take the regiment if you don’t have tasking for all of them. It becomes a waste of resources. You can see I assigned each of them to locations to scout, so now if anyone raises an eyebrow, at least you had rationale for that decision. If we tie into the outpost’s closed-loop communications array, we can stay in touch despite this infernal blackout. Since I promised my daughter I’d look out for you, I’ll stick with you on this little adventure.”
Hayley wasn’t an idiot; she knew she needed help, so she agreed and listened as he continued to teach her everything he’d learned about life in the Marine Corps. She wisely ordered Chax to record the conversation, hoping she could repeatedly mine this lesson for actionable directives.
They’d been exploring for three hours, following the endless directional arrows popping up in their helmet reticles. Miles of softly lit passageways, empty rooms, and dusty furniture were all they found. Thorn was still jabbering away in Hayley’s ear. He only stopped when the company Hayley was following happened upon a sealed room.
After a brief internal debate, she ordered the seal broken so they could look inside. It took a few minutes to open the tall, metal double doors. Years of disuse had warped the internal mechanisms. They cracked open, and that was enough for the Marines to jam breaching equipment into the crack and force it the rest of the way. When the doors finally parted, the Marines collectively gasped at their fortune.
The room beyond was at least the size of a hangar bay. The expanse was framed by high polycrete walls with lights flickering high above. Below the lights were rows upon rows of GT-511 Apani GravTanks, hulking boxes of metal with guns designed to annihilate ground troops and fortifications alike.
Thorn smacked Hayley on the shoulder so hard that it surprised her as he and the rest of the small group of Marines walked inside. Hayley looked past the gravtanks at the walls. They looked strange. Closer inspection revealed mountains of stacked pallets, almost to the ceiling. Black, faded stenciling on the sides of the tarped pallets indicated these were vacuum-sealed foodstuffs, the kind of food Marines had been eating since Horden was a wee one. Recognizing the significance of the find, Hayley had her visor snap some pictures and sent them to Lance.
Lance’s reply was instantaneous and succinct. The message streamed across the bottom of Hayley’s helmet reticle in blue letters: Well done. Keep looking for more.
Grumbling to herself, almost pouting behind her visor, Hayley left a fire team to catalog the find and ordered her Marines to push even farther into the depths of the outpost. It was going to be a long night for the 6907th.
Connected by a sloping passageway was another sealed door. This time there wasn’t any debate on whether to open it or not. One Marine placed a metal wedge in the crack of the door while another drove it home with a hammer. Once there was separation, a third Marine shoved a dual-pronged tool into the crack and activated the hydraulics. Metal screamed as the door was forced open.
The Marine manning the hydraulic breaching tool fell to her butt when the door opened completely. On the other side were sentry robots like the one that killed a handful of Marines and almost killed Lance. Only there wasn’t one robot; there were hundreds of them. Hayley dove to the side of the passageway and rolled onto a knee, sighting down on the sentries. The other Marines around did the same. Thorn, on the other hand, just stood there.
“Hold fire, Marines! Hold fire!” said Thorn.
Hayley almost choked on her own spit as Thorn casually strolled into the room with the sentry robots.
“They aren’t activated. Let’s not blow them up for no reason,” said Thorn as he continued walking. “Colonel Scipio might be disappointed if we wreck them.”
Pulling herself to her feet, Hayley could see Thorn was right. The sentry robots were in a perfectly spaced formation, many rows deep. Hayley couldn’t help but worry the robots might all activate at any second and blast them with their many guns. Putting such worries aside, she ordered a handful of the Marines to stay in the space and others to keep the search moving forward.
Hayley’s Aimee began pinging away on her arm. She had Chax send the information to her helmet reticle. Marines throughout the outpost were reporting that they were finding food, equipment, and various other supplies. To keep up with the flow of incoming information, she started organizing the supplies by type and prepared them for messaging. Thorn interrupted her by tapping a finger on her helmet visor.
“Major, maybe you should head back to your office and start organizing incoming message traffic,” said Thorn. “There’s a reason Colonel Scipio has had to sit out a few missions. It’s because he had to manage them. You’re an officer now, too. That means sometimes you should sit in your office and manage the battlespace while we grunts do the fun stuff.”
“Roger that, Sergeant Major,” replied Hayley. “I’m heading back to my office to start pushing out this information to the proper channels. I appreciate your guidance.”
As Hayley made the long walk back to her office, she thought about what Thorn said. She didn’t like being away from the action, but she could recall times when Lance paced around his office during missions because he had to do the same thing. Thorn was right. She needed to start thinking more like an officer. An officer would know that, if you are sending a regiment all over a giant outpost, you might need to be in a place to organize comms instead of trying to multi-task the way she was.
Maybe that’s why Lance is overlooking me. I need to start acting more like a Marine officer, and then I’ll surely fall into his favor, thought Hayley as she walked. At least he’ll be happy to see how successful this mission was.
— CHAPTER 03 —
Early Morning, Post-Revival Day 9
Human Marine Corps Outpost Sierra 4, Serendine
Commander, Task Force Carex, Human Legion
Field Marshal Tirunesh Nhlappo received the first good news she’d had since before the New Order Janissaries attacked her forces at New Detroit. The search party they’d sent out had discovered a hangar bay filled with damaged early-model Drakos. It was about time, too. She’d had to wait a whole extra day while Colonel Scipio and Task Force Keita hogged the only maglev line from Beta City. While Scipio was at Sierra 3, looking for supplies, Nhlappo had chosen Sierra 4.
The choice to go to Sierra 4 wasn’t random. Those drenting Hardits had destroyed her air power in New Detroit with tech the Legion had never seen before. They’d even ripped apart the Jotun destroyer, Indomitable. If the tech those monkeys had utilized to deal her such a blow was at the Makoni Ship Factory, she would find it and reclaim the skies.
Unfortunately, Outpost Sierra 4 wasn’t giving her much in the way of supplies. She had hoped to mine the place before heading southwest around the Edew Mountains. Although the old Drakos were something, they would only be useful for spare parts. The ground crew might be able to get a handful of those fighters into the air.
Standing up from the desk with the holo-display hovering above it, Nhlappo ran a bare hand over the dark stubble on her head. Her Marines were crawling all over the outpost, and she needed more positive reports of supplies before the long march toward the factory.
Come on, Nhlappo fumed. Find something…anything.
To make matters worse, she had to send any major reports and communications via a transport down the maglev line to Beta City. Given that she wasn’t the only person using the maglev for this purpose, she had to lump all vital information and send it once or twice a day.
It had been a little less than a week since she sent Commander Magnetizer, Tizer, and a contingent of Spacers up the Serendine Orbital Elevator. She prayed they would find a way to bypass the blackout. At the very least, maybe Tizer could salvage some pieces of the Indomitable. If anyone living could do it, it was Tizer.
These thoughts and countless others bounced through Nhlappo’s head while she paced around the room. A few members of her staff sat around, staring at the holo-display with her, but none spoke. They knew she was on edge, and her proclivity for lashing out verbally was well known.
While Nhlappo stomped around the room, some of her select Marines were getting a crash course in the GT-511 Apani GravTanks. Those gravtanks would help Task Force Carex reach its objective, the Makoni Ship Factory, that much sooner. Carex had many miles to cover, and most of those miles were in dry, hard, unforgiving terrain. Engineers were tasked with creating trailers for the gravtanks to pull. Although her Marines would have worshipped her if the trailers were designed as troop transports, she planned to use them to cart food, water, and other essential siege supplies. They needed to find those supplies first.
Nhlappo stopped in her tracks as several rooms on the holo-display changed colors at the same time. Unexplored areas of the floating blueprint were red, explored areas with nothing found were blue, and areas with supplies were green. She ran to the table and selected green rooms to read the message traffic and view attached Digi-Pics.
“Finally,” said Nhlappo. “They found vacuum-sealed food and water stores in a hanger. I was starting to wonder if this frakking place had anything of value other than broken Drakos.”
Looking over at her supply officer, Captain Vardon Taylor, Nhlappo began issuing orders.
“Captain Taylor, start divvying up supplies as they come in. I want them interspersed amongst the gravtank trailers the engineers are working on. My next secure message goes down the maglev in five hours; we move out shortly afterward. If any other supplies are located, add them to my pre-generated report.”
“Understood, Field Marshal,” said Taylor.
The moment she finished speaking Nhlappo exited the makeshift command area and headed to her private quarters. For the next few hours, she analyzed topography, intelligence reports, weather, and supply information as it updated in the privacy of her room. With everything as ready for the push southwest as she could make it, Nhlappo dictated her plans to Brinx, her AI. Brinx would relay her orders to her officers and NCOs and eliminate the need for a briefing.
When all parties responded that they understood, and the time to move came, she ordered them to load up the gravtanks with the supplies: food, water, ammunition carousels, and the modular tents capable of creating air locks so the inhabitants were shielded from Tranquility’s radiation.
Everything was streamlined and rapid because Nhlappo was a fighter, a doer, not a planner. She intended to keep it that way. Regardless, they couldn’t sit around and waste time over-planning. Not with Spartika, the traitor, waiting in the wings to crush her Human Legion into dust.
Like many things on Tranquility-4, the topography and terrain would run against her plans and temper her tactics. After all, the Edew Mountains to their immediate south stood between Task Force Carex and the Makoni factories. Those jagged mountains were impassible and would force Nhlappo to skirt around them, in a seaward direction, hoping to remain undetected until the last moment. Confident that it could be done, she sent the final message blast out to Brinx and kitted up in her armor.
An hour later, Nhlappo stood under the darkening Tranquility sky with assembled Marines and gravtanks around her. During the pre-combat preps, speed records were broken. She was pleased, although her Marines would never know this by her demeanor. Linking into the helmets of all Marines assembled, Nhlappo spoke.
“Move out toward predesignated waypoints, on the double. And for frakk’s sake, I want sergeants double checking that no gear was left behind. Field Marshal Nhlappo, out.”
Like Nhlappo herself, the order was clear, concise, and to the point. No ambiguity and no gray area. With the order given, the ground began to shake as her Marines obeyed.
— CHAPTER 04 —
Mid-Afternoon, Post-Revival Day 12
Human Legion Antilles Base, Antilles Moon
Ambassador, 75th Vengeance Air Wing, Hardit Militia
Afternoon in the void was dark, perfectly suited for Captain Camonian Faculi-Xemia’s mood at having to make deals with human scum. He knew he was sent because his brother, Scent Leader Thann Filar-Tubant, trusted him above all others, as was the way of Hardit packs. The fact that Thann commanded his air wing only made those familial duties more arduous. No matter his familial duty, however, Camonian was disgusted. Disgusted by the humans he’d yet to meet and at the circumstances which brought him here.
Camonian broke orbit and began to scan the Tranquility System. Although he was confident that the Human Legion was out there, he didn’t know exactly where their bases were. Much of the system had been abandoned through the course of the mutiny or destroyed by the New Order. Knowing he couldn’t afford to be caught off-guard, he alternated tasks frequently, visually scanning the void around him with his three eyes and sending out a request to parlay with the humans. He didn’t have to wait long.
Humans stationed on the Antilles moon, having been caught off-guard by the New Order Conquest Class fighters, were likely on high alert. Those filthy humans had just been dealt a severe blow to their forces and their pride. Camonian knew they’d be looking for payback. He suspected that they’d spy the unknown vessel the moment it broke Tranquility orbit. Within moments of detection, he saw what his sensors already told him.
With no real understanding of the dictates of nefnast politics, Camonian again sent the message to the fighters in front of him. He made a show of powering down his weapons and rotating his fighter. Flinching, as his tail nervously tapped the floorboard of his fighter, he presented his flanks to the nefnasts in front of him.
Are these revolting slaves smart enough to figure out my meaning? Camonian wondered. Not knowing the answer, and with the Stork Shuttles in front of him maintaining radio silence, he could only wait and hope they didn’t blow him to pieces.
With nothing else to do other than receive continual passive scans, Camonian visually observed the system and studied his sensors. Floating in pieces, some still being eaten away by corrosive munitions, was a massive Jotun destroyer. Surprisingly, there were movement and positive life signs emanating from the husk.
Another testament to the New Order’s inability to get things done. Perhaps if the New Order Janissaries hadn’t defiled their bodies, the Death Bringer would have allowed them to more effectively annihilate their enemies. Regardless, such intel would prove invaluable for his brother and their plan to save the proud Hardit people from the New Order. He activated his audio recorder and made a coded note, hoping he’d live long enough to play it.
After what felt like a lifetime, the human pilots wiggled the wings of their Stork before breaking off toward the Antilles moon. Camonian knew there was a pre-mutiny base on that moon. Clearly, it was still there. As for the pilots, their intent was clear: he was expected to follow the lead shuttle. The second shuttle moved behind Camonian and locked weapons onto his craft. With his life hanging in the balance, he followed, wishing he could verbally communicate but knowing that the New Order comms black-out would prevent such a luxury.
If we are to survive our righteous war against the perversion of the New Order, we need to circumvent this infernal comms void, Camonian lamented.
Camonian couldn’t remember a more nerve-wracking trip, not since the one which decided whether he got to remain a militia pilot or went back to a ground-stomping post. Slowly, the tiny white dot in his window became larger and larger. The gray and white planet was covered in rocks and craters. To his surprise, one crater, upon closer inspection, looked different from the others.
Camonian’s tail reached over his seat and rubbed the back of his furry head as the center of the crater began to open. It wasn’t a crater at all; it was a large, circular hangar bay door. The nefnasts were clever, he had to give that to them.
The landing on the Antilles Moon Base was uneventful, compared to what he’d expected due to its secretive location. Camonian reduced power to the thrusters, entered the air lock, sat the craft onto the deck plates, and powered down to a security stand-by mode. The routine hissing of the air rushing in as the pilot canopy lifted hid Camonian’s squeal of surprise.
Marines standing on walkways above the hangar bay floor stood menacingly with carbines pointed down at him. He couldn’t count how many, but just one Marine with their AI-assisted aim could kill him. One of the humans flashed a light at him, which hurt his sensitive eyes, and motioned with a carbine to the ground.
As a show of good faith, Camonian stood in the pilot’s compartment and raised his arms and tail to show the Marines that he was unarmed. The Marine flashed his light again and made the same motion. Camonian scurried down the side of his Conquest fighter, using his tail to assist him.
The moment his feet hit the ground, the Marines were on him. They shoved Camonian to the deck, searched him to ensure he was unarmed, then assisted him to his feet. Camonian tried to collect visual information, in case he needed to escape, but a Marine put a bag over his head as they started walking. Not saying a word, they escorted him to an empty room, sat him down in a chair, then shackled his legs, hands, and tail.
He heard metal combat boots shuffling, a door closing, and then nothing.
Idiot nefnasts, Camonian raged. I come with information to help them, and they lock me up instead.
Camonian wasn’t kept waiting long before the door opened and boots approached. A collar of some type was fastened around his neck. The moment it clicked, the hood was ripped away, and Camonian’s eyes tried to focus. It was bright in the room, too bright. As he waited for his vision to adjust, he made a note that the brilliant white coating on the polycrete walls created a shine designed to be disorienting. Clearly, this was an interrogation room.
