Guardian (War Angel Book 1) by David Hallquist (urban books to read TXT) 📗

Something lands on my back. I spin around to throw it off as it clambers atop my head. It’s a cadet with a gas mask and a knife. He jams the blade into one of my sensor eyes, trying to blind me, and succeeding in scratching the lens with a diamond mono-blade.

I throw the cadet off and knock him out.

“This section is clear; one prisoner,” I broadcast.

I fly down with my prisoner in my arms, while Marines in power armor fly up into the ruin I just left.

* * *

The battle’s been going on for most of the day, but it feels like weeks. The fighting has died down now that we’ve gotten word the Supreme Council has been captured. The team on the top fought their way down and captured the Terran leadership in some of the fiercest fighting in all the tower. Down here, we basically held the fort, keeping the entrances open and guarded while the Marines worked their way up, corridor by corridor. Our bulky frames wouldn’t be any good in that kind of fighting. While the battle was won upstairs, it would have been lost if we’d failed down here. First, we kept the pressure up on two locations so they couldn’t concentrate on us at either point. Second, we blocked access to the subterranean tunnels, preventing the council’s escape and reinforcements from arriving from below or outside.

The tower’s AI is now offline after a furious, incomprehensible cyber-battle between vast supercomputers. It took three seconds, which is apparently an eternity for entities like that. When it realized it was going to lose, the tower AI attempted to overload the fusion reactors in the base of the tower. Our fleet’s AI systems, as well as several Terran systems, struggled to cut the tower AI off from accessing the reactor or anything else, then worked together to overwhelm it.

There’s still fighting going on in the tower, a few groups still holding out here and there, while others are rising up against the Terran State at last, getting as much revenge as they can on the oppressive tyranny that has held them down so long. The whole place is a mess. It looks like the Marines are going to be busy here for a while, until things can be handed over to Lunars or other Terrans.

For us, though, our job is done. Finally, at long last, we can go home—or at last return to the fleet.

I’ve never been to humanity’s home world before. I’ve often wondered about it, researched it, and even dreamed about it. Once I finally got here, I found the place was even more strange and astounding than I ever dreamed.

Now, I can’t wait to leave.

We get the signal at long last—return to the carrier.

We assemble outside and take one last look at the blue skies and green forests of Earth. Boosting up by squadron, we roar into the sky one last time. We punch through the clouds, and the sky darkens until the stars come out.

I zoom in on a telescopic view of one of the stars moving overhead. The rotating hull of the Admiral Weston has never looked so good. Back to civilization again.

* * * * *

Chapter 8 The Chase

The shower is amazing. Hot water, just at the limits of discomfort, wash away sheer exhaustion and pain along with the grime, sweat, and stink. It’s not so much pleasure as it is the sudden absence of omnipresent aches and soreness that feels like release. I could fly without my frame right now. Finally, I’m up to a normal three gravities. At long last, I’m starting to feel human again.

I must have stripped off my outer layer of skin when I finally got out of my suit. The moisture absorption pockets were full, and then some, and my undergarments were so vile, I think I may have to burn them.

The memories and images of the past day swirl around in my mind, unbidden. Desperate fighting in the corridors…the charred burned men…fellow pilots cut down…

I turn up the heat and try to let the water wash it all away. It won’t work, but I try anyway.

I’m proud of my men and how they handled themselves. Even though I was a brand-new leader, they followed orders completely and enthusiastically, and accomplished every objective without complaining, hesitating, or wavering, and while under the worst of circumstances. The faults—delays in taking the base of the tower, and the loss of my men—are my responsibility alone. I couldn’t have asked for a better squadron, and I’m wondering if they got the leader they really deserved.

I wish I’d had more time to get to know them all. I’ll have to talk with people, find out about them the best I can…for the memorial services…and the letters home.

All that and the debrief will have to wait until tomorrow. We’ve got some time now, and my cabin is calling to me, promising a deep black, dreamless sleep. I hope it’ll be dreamless, anyway. Finally, to rest for a bit…

“ALERT! ALERT! All pilots to their frames! This is not a drill!”

I’m out of the shower instantly, and…

…I trip and fall on the locker room floor, which hurts quite a bit in three gravities. I scramble up, put one still wet leg into my flight-suit—which sticks, of course, because it’s wet. The flight-suit or me? Both, of course. Finally, I get one leg in and hop around to get the other on. I try to zip it up and begin to leave—

Helmet. Important in space.

I grab the helmet and rush out of the locker room.

The hallway is filled with the organized chaos of a ship going to battle stations. Everyone is moving as fast as they can, and skillfully