Incoming Chapter Ten (standard:science fiction, 4426 words) [6/6] show all parts
Author: James J Martin	Added: Jan 19 2005	Views/Reads: 2343/1861	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Chapter Ten of the Incoming saga. A view from the homeworld and the ramifications of an internal struggle.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

In the launch bay of the Archangel, Admiral Greerson was preparing to
leave to brief the commanders planetside.  His escort of Talons, 
already launched, were patrolling in a racetrack pattern awaiting his 
arrival.  The dropship pilot received clearance for launch, exited the 
launch bay and formed up on the Talons.  Greerson was reviewing the 
most recent reports as the dropship entered the upper atmosphere. 

"21, 23. You reading that surge as we passed that mass of junk?" Talon
23's EO asked over the secure intership channel. 

"Copy that 23.  Intel reported that some of this stuff still had power
but its so old that it doesn't even have enough juice to lock us up." 

"I don't know about that 21, it looked alive enough as we passed." Talon
21's EO locked his sensor scan on it and took an in depth readout.  His 
readings were off the scale. Re-calibrating the sensor, he tried again. 


"Launch! Launch! Talon 23 has Vampire inbound! Multiple launches!
Inbounds from sector 18 and 21!"  Both Talons performed evasive 
maneuvers as the dropship dove into the atmosphere at an increased 
angle. 

"Captain? What's happening?" Greerson asked from the observers seat
behind and between the two pilots as the dropship performed a radical 
diving turn. 

"Sir, both Talons report multiple inbounds we have to clear the area."
The senior pilot reported as he threw the dropship into a tight spiral. 
 Greerson reached out and grabbed the handhold as the dropship twisted 
and turned to avoid the deadly missiles. 

"Get on the commo and get us some help up here." The pilot said to his
right seater.  The commo tech immediately began sending out a burst 
transmission to the closest support unit. 

"No joy, too much interference from the ionosphere. All I'm getting is
static."  The pilot took one hand off the controls and tried the commo 
channel. 

"That's not right. We have comsats in orbit to bounce our signal."  He
grabbed the controls again and started to slow the dropship from its 
dive. 

"Keep trying." He said as the threat indicator went to a steady tone. 

"Lock-on! We have a lock-on!" his right seater yelled out.  Greerson
felt a tingle in the pit of his stomach, almost like he had swallowed a 
block of ice. 

"Get those Talons on us for cover! Do it now!" the pilot yelled as he
put the nimble ship through a series of stomach churning turns and 
twists. 

"Impact in six seconds! Steady tone! We're locked up!" he reached over
and kept his fingers in the buttons releasing chaff and decoy flares 
while twisting the dial on the sensor jamming equipment in hopes of 
breaking the lock. 

The missile impacted the right rear quarter of the dropship before
detonating within the empty troop compartment.  The dropship was kicked 
into a hard left spin, which the pilot could barely compensate for.  
Explosive decompression sucked any loose items out of the gaping hole. 

"Fire in hold!" the right seater struggled to reach the overhead
extinguisher buttons. Greerson held on to the grab bars and made sure 
his belts were secure as he reached to the emergency breather mask on 
the overhead.  The pilot was struggling to control his dying craft as 
it fought him hard for a tight left spiral and certain destruction. 

"Where's those Talon's?!" he yelled into his mask as fought the now
sluggish controls. 

The second missile missed the dropship due to its abrupt spin and change
of direction but was still close enough to trigger a proximity 
detonation on the pilot side of the ship.  Shrapnel from the explosion 
impacted the side of the dropship and killed the pilot instantly as 
well as severing the control crossover system.  The co-pilot grabbed 
futilely at the controls as the dropship plummeted to the surface.  
Greerson saw the death of the pilot, felt the sting as tiny metal 
fragments pelted him and that cold spot in his stomach grew larger as 
the view screen filled up with the muddy landscape consistent with the 
surface. 

"23, 23 you got a read on the dropship?" 21's EO was scanning large
sections of the planet surface after shooting down the remaining two 
missiles. 

"Negative 21. Nothing yet." Talon 23 was in a low altitude, wings swept
forward, in a search pattern while Talon 21 was in a higher altitude. 

The dropship came down relatively intact between two small hills.  Point
of impact to final resting spot was just under one and a half klicks.  
The rear section of the ship took the worst impact as it was twisted 
and strewn over the ground and partially up the hills.  The forward 
sections were mostly bunched together and resting on the uneven, muddy 
ground.  A lone figure in Broderian battle armor was walking through 
the crash site.  Stopping occasionally to take a scan of the area 
before moving on.  The constant rain put out any small fires and kept 
the smoke from leaving the secluded valley.  The figure approached the 
cockpit section, remarkable still in one piece, and looked inside.  
Pilot obviously dead, copilot killed on impact.  The third person 
looked almost unscathed, save for some small cuts and maybe a bruise.  
He appeared to be slightly pinned in the wreckage by an overhead beam.  
The armored figure waved the small scanner over the third person and 
was rewarded by a soft moan.  Replacing the scanner in its pouch, the 
figure looked around the crash site until finding a short piece of 
support beam. The officer was mostly conscious when the figure 
returned, pushing on the beam that pinned him to his seat. Looking up 
at the figure in armor through one eye, the other, crusted shut from a 
cut. 

"Soldier," he said as he focused on the form and the heavily tinted
visor. " Help me out of this mess." Admiral Greerson said softly.  The 
armored figure stopped before raising the short piece of beam overhand. 


"Sorry Admiral. There weren't any survivors." The figure said just
before bringing the beam down solidly onto the admiral's head and 
crushing his skull.  Dropping the beam and waving the scanner over the 
now lifeless body, the figure nodded, turned and walked back over the 
hill to the waiting APC. 

"Any luck sir?" The sergeant asked the armored figure as it entered the
APC. 

"Negative. They were all killed on impact.  Recall the platoon and
secure the perimeter. Notify fleet ops command of our position and send 
in the G-Regs." 

"Aye aye sir." The sergeant turned to the console and began
transmission. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN 

"Captain Winslow. Admiral Greerson's dropship has been shot down and is
missing." Powell said quietly as Winslow read from the data screen on 
his command chair. 

"Thank you Mr. Powell.  I just received confirmation that the crash site
has been located. No survivors." He looked up at Powell. "How did this 
happen?" 

Powell looked into Winslow's eyes, saw the fleeting look of pain and
hurt before it was replaced by a cold, professional gaze. 

"I don't know sir, but we're running a full system scan as well as a
sensor diagnostic. We'll know soon enough." Powell responded as he put 
his hand up to the lightweight headset he wore. 

"Flash traffic sir.  Long range patrol has encountered a Newson armada
approaching.  Sensor sweep confirms it.  It's huge.  They count over 
twenty capital ships and numerous smaller vessels."  Winslow nodded. 

"Mr. Powell, bring the fleet to battle stations, sound general quarters,
launch all craft. Send a burst to Ops Control, we are about to be 
engaged."  Winslow turned his chair,  "Weps, stand by for launch 
commit."  Winslow turned back to Powell, "The time for mourning will 
come, but right now we have an appointment with destiny." 

Captain Davidson walked through the crash area.  All around him,
technicians, medics and soldiers were gathering information and sorting 
through the wreckage.  Overhead, Talon fighters were providing ground 
support for the searchers.  A dropship was settling down on the now 
rutted landing zone as Davidson walked up the small hill to his command 
vehicle.  He stopped as The 7th Division Commander; Lieutenant General 
Smith disembarked and walked towards him. 

"Sir." Davidson said as he snapped out a salute.  Smith snapped a sharp
salute in response. 

"Captain, what have you got here?" Smith asked.  Davidson turned and
surveyed the ground below before answering. 

"Sir, it appears that the dropship came down in an east to west
direction after initial impact with the missile.  Preliminary 
inspection shows a proximity detonation on the pilot side of the craft, 
which apparently, severed the crossover systems." Davidson paused 
before adding.  "It would have been like trying to fly a brick sir.  
They never had a chance." 

Smith nodded and then clasped the other man on the shoulder. 

"I understand captain.  Incidents like this are hard to plan for.  I
authorized a sweep of the old comsats and H/K birds still in orbit, but 
it's too little too late."  Smith turned to one of his aides and handed 
Davidson a series of discs. 

"Captain, this is the order of battle.  We have a Newson fleet coming
within striking distance.  The fleet has moved to engage, leaving us 
with a small screening force.  We can expect ground troops once that 
fleet pushes through."  Smith paused.  "Once this area is secured, 
report back to Alpha Base and brief your men.  There will be a service 
for Admiral Greerson and the flight crew at 0900 tomorrow before we 
ship them home.  Anyone not standing duty is invited to attend."  
Davidson turned, snapped to attention and saluted. 

"Duty and Honor."  Smith snapped to attention and returned the salute. 

"Death or Glory." He replied before turning and walking back to his
dropship. 

Davidson continued to his ship and made the flight back to Alpha Base in
silence. 

Sergeant Deakins awoke with a splitting headache.  He slowly sat up and
held his head in his hands as if it would break apart at any moment.  
He squinted his eyes and looked around the room.  The walls were 
rough-hewn rock, the bunk he sat on was solid but appeared almost hand 
made.  He stood unsteadily and made his way to the door.  Trying the 
handle he was surprised that it wasn't locked.  Opening the door slowly 
and as quietly as possible, he stuck his head out and looked down the 
dim lit corridor.  Cautiously, he made his way to the large iris like 
door set in the far wall of the hallway.  As he stood in front of it 
looking for a control panel, it dilated and a booming voice was heard. 

"Step forward Sergeant First Class Eric Deakins.  I have been expecting
you."  Deakins stepped over the threshold and into the chamber beyond.  
Behind him, the iris sealed shut. 

CHAPTER TWELVE 

"Frank I want a full and thorough investigation into Admiral Greerson's
death and a complete scan of orbiting trash."  Smith stopped then 
turned and slammed his fist into the conference table.  "Damnit! How 
could this have happened?"  Smith walked over to the beverage dispenser 
and poured a cup of tea. 

"Artie, I don't know.  We've sent scan teams out before to survey that
ring of comsats.  Its all inconclusive reports."  Curtis tossed the 
reports onto the table. "We can't locate a single active H/K bird out 
there.  Hell, the residue from the crash almost matches our ordnance."  
Curtis stood and moved to the status board.  "Right now, we didn't need 
this right now.  That Newson fleet is breathing down out necks. We got 
reports of troop ships that slipped past our blockade."  He turned to 
Smith.  "The center will not hold." He said finally.  Smith turned 
abruptly at that. 

"What?!" He stared hard at his old friend.  "What did you just say?"
Curtis met his stare. 

"I said the center will not hold. It's an ancient saying. What's the
problem?"  Smith moved over to the briefing materials stacked at the 
end of the table. 

"Frank that's it.  It's the center.  Right in front of us this entire
time, it's the center." Smith rifled through the stack until he came to 
the file he was looking for.  Flipping open pages he thrust it at 
Curtis. 

"Don't you see? It's the center.  It's the center of this planet!  The
damn thing is somehow hollow.  That would explain why we haven't been 
able to catch any of the indigenous lifeforms.  Think about it man, a 
major global war, weather turned to shit.  Where else would you go if 
not underground?" 

"OK, Artie, so its hollow or honeycombed with underground passages.  Why
would the Newson want it so bad?  I'm sure with their technology they 
have earth moving equipment." He said somewhat sarcastically.  Smith 
ignored the sarcasm.  He tossed the file down in front of Curtis. 

"Damnit Frank! Don't you see?  The Algearians moved underground to
protect themselves and safeguard the secret to this planet."  He moved 
to the status board again. "Contact Major Hunter. Have his men move 
East to grid 212 just at the base of  hill 214." Curtis looked 
confused. 

"Major Hunter? Major Hunter from SOCOM?  Lee's utility troubleshooter? 
It'll take him at least three standard days to get here, set up and 
brief his men.  We don't have that kind of time Art."  Smith turned 
from the board a grin on his face. 

"Hunter's already here and set up.  Lee sent his team in as a research
and survey unit." Curtis was stunned. "How could you have known this?  
I've been to all the briefings, seen all the intel reports, Hell, I 
authorized the troops deployments.  How could Lee have sent a team in 
without my knowing it?" 

"Relax Frank. I requested them before we left Broder.  Kirby even signed
off on it.  They've been operating out in the fringe areas all this 
time with direct access to all our intel reports." He paused to sip his 
now cooling tea. "I've had a direct link with them since they lost a 
scout vehicle.  I chopped them some support personnel and a company of 
engineers."  Smith removed a disc from his vest pocket. "It's all here 
Frank.  Everything including the discovery of an entrance."  Curtis 
took the disc, still in shock.  "Somehow, the Newson know we found the 
entrance to the center and they want it bad. Bad enough to send an 
armada to pound us.  We need to find out what's down there and secure 
it."  Curtis all but collapsed into a chair still holding the disc. 

"Artie this is incredible.  We need to notify OpsCom immediately.  They
need to be apprised of the situation."  Smith put his cup down hard on 
the table. 

"Like hell!  We don't notify them until we deal with the Newson fleet. 
This planet needs to be secure before we start celebrating our 
discovery."  Curtis nodded agreement and tucked the disc away in a 
shirt pocket.  He stood, took a deep breath, as Smith turned back to 
status board. 

"Alright Artie, we do it your way."  He paused  "For now." He added
quietly as he turned and left the conference room. 

Just at the base Hill 214, a major excavation operation was already
underway. Major Hunter moved around the engineering equipment, stepped 
over power and data cables and moved to the center shelter, erected 
inside an abandoned building and over the excavated hole.  His men were 
around the building, securing the perimeter.  Inside the shelter, the 
senior engineering officer was making a final equipment check. 

"Anything new?" Hunter asked as he entered.  Pitt, the other officer
looked up.  "Nothing yet. But we're still working on it."  He turned 
back to his console and began to  fine-tune his screen.  "We dropped 
six probes into the hole and number five scanned your scout vehicle." 
Pitt held out the scan log as he continued his calibrations.  Hunter 
took it and paged through it. 

"Any sign of my men?" he asked.  Pitt turned to him.  "Not yet. But
someone set a beacon at the vehicle." 

Onboard Archangel, the CIC was lit in combat red as Captain Winslow
reviewed the damage reports.  The interior had some lingering smoke 
from an earlier fire. Powell approached the command chair with more 
reports. 

"Sir. The Hackworth reports severe damage to shielding and life support.
 Liggett and Alliance are escorting her back to the far side of the 
planet.  No word yet from Decoursey.  The Clancy has lost four launch 
bays.  Paladin is reloading their missile bays."  He looked back down 
at his report. "We lost eight percent of our Talons and only two 
percent of the Raptors.  The Newson armada has turned to heading 151 
and is moving at flank speed away from us.  It would appear that they 
are combat lossing the heavily damaged ships as they go.  Two squadrons 
of Raptors are currently harassing and keeping them from changing 
direction."  Winslow nodded as he paged down damage report. 

"We gave them what for alright. If it weren't for their damn
self-detonation when a capital ship is destroyed, our losses would be 
much less.  Even engaging at our extreme long range  just isn't 
enough."  He looked up in the dim red light. "Any word from Battle 
Group Bravo?"  Powell shook his head sadly. 

"No sir.  They engaged the Newson right flank.  No word from them since
they punched through their formation. We may have to assume they were 
destroyed when those Capital ships went up.  Our last signal was a 
confirmation that they had engaged and were pushing through." 

Winslow nodded agreement. "Keep trying to raise them.  Maybe some of
them made it." 

"Aye sir." Powell turned and went back to his station. 

Outside, in the space around UNL-465, more debris would soon join that
which was already present.  Broderian vessels of varying type as well 
as larger sections of Newson vessels, remarkably still intact after 
detonation, floated in decaying orbit.  Smaller repair vessels 
flittered over and around the heavy cruisers and frigates, while Talons 
and Raptors kept watch. 

On the surface of UNL-465, ground troops swept in increasing numbers,
the target areas that those Newson transports, lucky enough to make to 
the surface, had disgorged troops.  At Alpha Base Prime, Colonel 
McKnight  and Captain Petrovich watched the status board as units moved 
and changed location. 

Lieutenant Waters, sitting in his APC as it jostled and bounced over the
terrain was watching the sensor screens for activity when the heavy 
vehicle dropped into a small ravine and came to a shuddering stop.  
Amid the grumbles of the troopers inside, he could hear the driver 
attempt to back up and get out of the hidden hazard.  The co-driver was 
on the comm.-net reporting their position and requesting a recovery 
vehicle when Waters proximity alert sounded. "GET OUT! GET OUT! MOVE! 
MOVE!" He yelled as reached out a pulled the emergency handle firing 
the explosive bolts surrounding the troop doors.  He and Sergeant 
Wilkes counted heads as the troopers bailed out of the APC.  Wilkes 
reached out and shoved Waters out the door just milliseconds before a 
Newson anti-tank missile hit the angular snout of the APC.  The two 
drivers were instantly incinerated and Wilkes was tossed out the 
hatchway like a rag doll.  Waters shouted commands via his 
inter-platoon radio and watched as his men moved into position to take 
the Newson unit under fire.  Though the advantage of surprise was on 
their side, the Newson forces lacked the overwhelming firepower and 
intense training the Broderians benefited from.  Within minutes, the 
Newson rocket team and their security element were eliminated.  Waters 
walked over to where Wilkes lay, half buried in the soft mud. 

"OK Sergeant. You can get up now."  He reached down and gave Wilkes a
hand up.  Watery mud ran off Wilkes armor as he stood. 

"Thank you sir." Wilkes replied.  Waters kept his hand on Wilkes.  "You
sure Sergeant? That was quite a ride you took there." 

"Don't worry about me sir. It takes more then a small explosion to break
this old war horse." 

"Glad to hear that Sergeant.  By the way, thank you for pushing me out
of the APC." Wilkes stopped and looked back the lieutenant. 

"If you weren't so slow in getting your butt out the door, I wouldn't be
scooping mud out of my shorts." Wilkes said good-naturedly. "You're 
welcome sir." Wilkes said as he walked off to check the deployment of 
the platoon.  First Squad had secured the Newson casualties as the rest 
of the platoon fanned out and searched for any stragglers. Wilkes 
walked over to the first of the bodies, squatted down and looked at the 
equipment. 

"Corporal Loe, did you remove anything from this body?" 

"No sergeant, just rolled it over after checking for traps and
grenades."  Wilkes continued to inspect the gear as Waters walked up 
and squatted next to him. 

"What you got Top?" Waters asked. 

"Don't know sir. It looks like they have no viable image enhancement
capability, no standardized load bearing equipment, and little to no 
armor." He stood.  "Corporal, hand me that rifle you took off  them."  
Loe passed over the strange looking rifle. Wilkes took it, ejected the 
magazine and worked the action a few time.  He tossed the magazine to 
Waters. 

"I'll be damn sir.  This is a second generation, for real, projectile
thrower." Waters tossed the magazine back to him.  Wilkes slung the odd 
rifle and pushed a cartridge out of the magazine. "Look here sir, its 
not caseless." Wilkes grasped the tip of the shell and twisted hard.  
As the tip came loose, he upended the cartridge and poured out a fine 
black residue into the palm of his armored glove. 

"I'd bet a week's pay that this is some kind of ignition source like
they talked about in the history books."  Waters looked at the fine 
powder. 

"Sergeant, you're right.  In the Academy they talked about ancient
weapons using forms of powdered ignition to propel the projectile 
forward."  He looked around the area.  "That would mean that the Newson 
are centuries behind us in military technology. 

"Be that as it may sir, with all due respect, they sure as hell found a
way to take our vehicle out and put us on the ground.  That was no slug 
thrower that took out the APC." 

Wilkes moved to next body and inspected it after handing the rifle and
magazine back to Loe.  He reached down and yanked one of the boots off 
the body. 

"Sir, check this out."  Waters walked over.  "This guy has two of the
same boots on, they're both for the left foot." He dropped the boot and 
moved on to check the next body. 

"And this one doesn't even have any kind of uniform on. He's even
wearing athletic style shoes. No organization in this at all sir.  
These guys look more like conscripts than any type of soldier.  Maybe 
even mercs."  Wilkes said as an afterthought.  Waters made sure his 
suit camera was catching the detail as he added his own personal notes. 



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