First Comes Duty (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 2) (36 page)

Every Cimmerian in the room straightened their backs. 

“I need to get into the seat of the first prototype, Errol, because it is the one most frequently used to ferry, ah, the pretender on the throne, to and from the battle station. With any luck I can still use the access codes to gain entry to the platform.”

Errol shook his head. “What if they’ve changed the codes?”

Nathan produced a wry smile. “Then, Errol, I’ll have to think of something else. Or my wife will be really upset with me.”

Respectful chuckles echoed from the rough walls.

“So, that’s your straightforward plan?”

More chuckling.

“Not all of it. We don’t have the numbers for a straight-in attack, so we’ll need to pursue a more furtive approach. To that end, I intend to employ specialist personnel to circumvent the security without setting off alarms. If we do that, some of us might make it home for dinner.”

“If not?”

“Major Logie, has anyone ever told you that you have a way of bringing a conversation down?”

More nervous chuckling.

“I’m sure with the help of the 58
^th
regiment, Cimmerian Special Forces, this exercise will be a walk in the park.”  

CHAPTER 57

The mentally infirmed, as one of the Cimmerian soldiers dubbed them, worked their way through the meandering tunnels for three hours. The human contingent, who would have been wobbling at the knees by now, were holding their own.

Ahead, a hand went up. Nathan stopped and covered his lamp. In the dead silence and utter darkness, he sensed a bristling tension rising from the entire force. Lights reappeared, and they proceeded forward. A hundred meters ahead, the first body appeared. His throat hung open, resembling a ghastly second mouth. No clumsy butchering: he had been dispatched by a professional.

Other bodies followed. The outer perimeter guards would need to check in regularly. When they failed to do so, a punitive response would be directed at the small group.

They were moving cautiously, as they should, but time could well be running out. Leaving his friends behind, Nathan jogged toward the sharp end of the spear. The cave’s  interference rendered their sensors useless. But his sensor, his Prep, could warn of danger. The bulk of the Cimmerian force huddled together on the ground. Errol’s flankers conversed as Nathan had seen Spartans communicate. From their sign language, there appeared to be some disagreement. The point guard said,
all clear ahead
, the next in line said,
bullshit
. Errol debated.

Nathan examined the area ahead, seeing only pure ebony. He reached out with his senses. Danger. High up to the right. Silently he indicated his suspicions to Errol.

Time was slipping by. Anything could be happening in orbit above them.

I’ll check this out
, Nathan said, with sign language.

Be my guest
, Errol replied, with a wave of his hand.

With an arrow nocked onto his bowstring, Nathan stepped to the middle of the cavern, and coughed. By sense alone, he located the enemy guard. When his Prep burned like a hot coal, he zeroed in on the source and fired. A thud, a groan, then the body fell from its elevated position, crashing onto the ground before him. Nathan took note of the enemy’s crossbow as he withdrew his arrow, wiped the blood off on the enemy’s coat and re-sheathed it. Unlike the practice arrows he had taken aboard
Truculent
, these were sharp, metal-tipped killers. In the dull light from a lamp, he could only make out Errol’s enormous, pure white grin.

With Nathan in the lead, their pace quickened. Whenever he sensed danger, Nathan indicated where and how many to Errol. His band of professional cutthroats eliminated the problem.

They continued on, Nathan’s senses continuing to seek out any threat. 

Grinding to a sudden halt, he let the flood of danger wash over him.
Not good
. Nathan signaled to Errol: many ahead; he pointed forward, right and left. They returned to the main group. Nathan explained the situation, then deferred to Errol, a professional, as to the disposition of forces. Three groups would hit the larger force simultaneously. The Cimmerians would hit right and left, Nathan and his force would take the group in the middle: his team of nine against whatever awaited them. With energy weapons useless within this environment, they were going to get bloody. Gathering his team around him, he whispered his final instructions. 

“Lucky and Ritchie, team up. Cover one another’s backs. CC, you’re with me.” He nodded to Jin, before staring into the eyes of the four young Nihonese. “I’ll say it again. Teamwork. Cover one another.” He rubbed his mouth. “If one of the guards sends out an alert, we’re all dead. So, do not hesitate. Today there will be no quarter given to this enemy. There’s too much at stake. Questions?”

“Prisoners?” Yuki asked.

His jaw hardened. “
No
quarter,” he repeated. “Am I being clear about what I expect from all of you?”

Nodding heads.

“Good, let’s move out.”

He left Emile and the doctors behind. Nathan and the Nihonese carried swords, the Athenians solid metal clubs. It would have to do.

The first group of enemy soldiers, about fifteen strong, lounged around a heating element in a large cavern. To Nathan, it did not smell as if they were drinking coffee. One of them, an officer by the look of him, sat at a small desk, a communications device by his right hand. Nathan positioned his people and waited for Errol’s signal.

With his team outnumbered nearly two to one, surprise would be crucial.

Nathan’s back ached as one of the enemy group got to his feet and headed toward them.

“You’ve got the bladder of a ninety-year-old, Hansen.” The enemy troops chuckled.

Bad, bad, bad.

Nathan motioned everyone back into the shadows. The guard passed them, continued on into the dark, took a piss and turned back. Something in the gloom caught his attention, and he moved toward the Nihonese’s position. He screamed before Ken could slice his throat open.

That’s it.

Nathan charged into the cavern, past stunned guards and up to where the officer reached for his comm. His sword came down on the enemy’s wrist. His high-pitched scream brought the others fully awake. A stab to his throat silenced him. The guards fumbled to draw their swords, some not even on their feet. Ken took the first guard, moving quickly on as the rest of the team poured inside. Tommy took down two more, turned to attack another. Four of the enemy came at Nathan, swords held aloft. He stepped under the first blow, striking up into the chest, and pushed through the group, catching another in the stomach. Jin moved with remarkable speed, dispatching the other two. He stepped to one side as a sword passed dangerously close to his left shoulder. Swinging about, he drove his sword into the enemy’s eye. Nathan turned to face the next danger signal. The soldier grinned as he aimed his crossbow at the center of Nathan’s chest. A club smashed the soldier’s skull wide open. Nathan nodded his thanks to CC.

An unnerving calm fell over the cavern, marred only by the labored breathing of the survivors. The battle had lasted only seconds, yet fifteen Cimmerians lay dead on the ground. Plus one of their own.

“Lucky, get the doc.”

Nathan knelt beside Tommy. The other Nihonese gathered around their fallen friend. He lay on his side, the sword still sticking out of his chest. Nathan knew the truth, but went through the motions.

“Hey, Tommy, how you doing?”

“I’m fine, Nathan. Odd, I can’t feel a thing.”

Nathan’s heart sank.

Yuki held his hand as tears streaked her face.

Keiko stroked his face. “Hey, Tommy, hang in there. The doctor will be here soon. You’ll be fine.”

Tommy gave a labored laugh. “Yeah, sure. Hey, Nathan, we gave them hell, didn’t we?” he said.

“We sure did.”

There was a rustling of bodies as Doc Ning stepped around the bloody carnage. He grimaced as he stepped into a puddle of gore. Nathan turned to the fallen Nihonese. Ensign Tomita Haruki’s dead eyes stared at him. No one moved or spoke; the silence was broken only by sobbing.

That’s one death on me.
He pushed the guilt aside. It would not get the job done. They needed anger. Nathan pulled the sword from Tommy’s chest and hurled it against a wall. The loud clang snapped everyone out of their shock.

“Don’t bunch up,” he snapped. “Cover all entry points. Stay alert.”

Ken closed Tommy’s lifeless eyes and turned his back while wiping a tear from his cheek. 

No one spoke until Errol’s group showed up.

“Fucking amateurs. I told you not to attack until—”

The sight of the dead young Nihonese quelled his irritation.

“Damn, it’s always a pity when the kids go down.”

“He’s not a kid, Major,” Nathan growled. “He is a man. He fought like a man, he died like a man.”  

Nathan’s skin prickled as the anger rose.
Yes, that’s what we need. Get mad, get even.

“Shit happens,” Nathan said. “We’ve still got a job to do.”

The faces of his teammates had changed. Even his friends viewed him through tainted eyes.

It’s not the first time, and it doesn’t matter. Only the job matters.

“Outpost twelve, report.”

Nathan pried the comm from the dismembered Cimmerian hand. “Outpost twelve, nothing to report.”

A pause. “Outpost sixteen, report.” The same tired voice.

Errol upended a bag containing captured comms and stared at them.

“Outpost sixteen, report.” The disembodied voice sounded more annoyed than alarmed.

Errol snatched up a comm. “Outpost sixteen. Nothing to report … as usual.”

Nice ad lib. 

“Yeah,” said the voice, “as usual. Outpost seventeen, report.” As Errol scurried to locate the right device, the voice said, “Come on, you blokes, stay awake, will ya.”

Errol handed the comm to another soldier. “Ah, yeah, outpost seventeen. Nuttin’ to report.”

They repeated the exercise until all comms had been answered.

With the others following his lead, Nathan pressed on. A short time later they left the perimeter behind and moved into the heart of the beast. The tunnels began to narrow, light seeping in from an outside source. He stopped by what appeared to be an exit.

It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the bright lights streaming past the exit point. Slowly, he stepped out onto a high-walled area overlooking the huge compound. Search lights panned around the exterior of the compound, but not inside. The cold hit Nathan like an icy knife. No wonder no guards patrolled the high battlements. To the east, the king’s private airstrip stretched into the freezing darkness. What about sensors? Even though they had encountered none in the tunnels, this high-security area must surely be covered by a sensor grid.

Retrieving his monocular from a webbing pouch, Nathan gave the area a detailed examination.

Within the high-walled compound, safe from assault for decades, the guards lounged about, talking loudly, expecting nothing. Switching to infrared, he could just make out one of the fighters inside the main hangar. He detected no movement from within the hangar, and only sporadic, languid patrols throughout the compound.

But where were the security sensors? Could they be affected by the same interference he encountered in the caves?

Errol sidled up to him and silently asked to borrow his eyeglass. He returned it after a thorough evaluation of the immediate area.

Security grid?
Nathan asked, using hand gestures.

Errol shook his head and with two fingers walking along his leg, indicated patrols only.

I’ll clear a path to the hangar
, Errol continued.
You cover me
.

Nathan nodded. The “former” special ops officer disappeared into the darkness. Time passed. Below, a guard leaned against the hangar’s wall. Then, he didn’t. The brutal exercise continued in the same vein: the fast movements of shadows, guards disappearing.

At any moment a light could snap on, an alarm wail, raking fire from multiple positions, tearing their small force to pieces.
If, if, if.

Finally, movement from inside the hangar: Errol’s raised thumb. 

Joining the rest of the team, they made their way down the steep incline and into the hangar. Light glanced in from skylights, and shortly he could define shapes and the outlay of the place. Only one of the fighters sat within the hangar.

With Eleanor’s help, they shifted a gantry to the Kamora, then silently took the steps up to the exposed combat chairs. In the weak light, he could not tell if this was the first or second prototype.

Eleanor slid into the back seat and began to run systems diagnostics. Nathan retrieved the comm headpiece that hung from the control column and placed it into his left ear.

The teams had spread out around the hangar, covering every entry point. The ticking clock in Nathan’s head would not relent.

Eleanor tugged urgently on his jacket. He placed his ear close to her mouth.

“This is prototype two. No access codes.”

Damn.

The overhead lights snapped on, flooding the hangar with brilliant illumination. Nathan dragged the Cimmerian designer from the fighter and ran down the stairs. He dashed to the main entrance where Errol kept guard. The entire compound had turned as bright as daylight. From the western ramparts, the runway landing lights glowed.

In the distance, the sound of an approaching craft.

CHAPTER 58

King Everett the First, unquestioned monarch of the Cimmerian System, leaned back in the seat of his personal fighter. This night’s negotiations sent a satisfied glow coursing through his body. The Bretish would get what they deserved, and Cimmeria would be saved from destruction. 

“Your Majesty,” the pilot said, “we’re on final approach and should be landing in a few minutes.”

Everett nodded absently, then remembered to key his mike.