Outpost
In the aftermath of battle…
Captain Kim Morden and the crew of the RAS Verdun have triumphed over the Frontin in Derek’s Triangle but at a heavy cost. They limp toward Kensington Station, a run-down supply outpost on a remote planet in Alliance space, to repair their battered ship and mourn their dead in safety. After all, what danger could lurk on a dump like Kensington?
A new threat rises…
But the thick forests of this sun-drenched backwater world hide more than just an Alliance supply depot. A new and nameless enemy lies in wait, its objectives inscrutable, its intent lethal. When a surprise attack forces Morden to leave the planet, she makes the agonizing choice to abandon Lt. Commander Jack Wilcox and the rest of the Verdun landing party on Kensington. Morden vows to return, but will Wilcox and his people survive?
And victory will demand the ultimate sacrifice.
Outnumbered, Wilcox’s party must join forces with the planet’s garrison, a small, elite unit of Alliance Rangers. They can only wait for the Verdun to rescue them, fighting the harsh terrain and a relentless foe in a ruthless battle for survival. But when the enemy gains control of a powerful weapon, it’s a race against time for Wilcox and his rag-tag team to strike back and disable it —or watch the Verdun’s rescue attempt end in a fiery massacre!
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Excerpt
Jack Wilcox stepped out of the crowded interior of the tender and into the blinding sunlight. The late afternoon heat hit him like a wave as the craft’s engine spluttered and shut off. Jack loosened his tie and stepped out of the way as Major Osterman the six marines he’d brought as escort filed off the transport. Jack watched as Osterman blinked in the light, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Didn’t dress for the weather, did we?” Jack grinned, pointing at Osterman’s body armor.
Osterman fixed Jack with a gaze that clearly said, “Shut up,” and turned to the other marines. “Secure the docks!”
The marines scrambled up the dock toward the shoreline, Osterman jogging behind. It was good to see Gordon out and about again, if it was for a simple exercise like this. His wounds from the battle with the Frontin had been so severe that it had seemed the infirmary would never let him go. Osterman’s charming, levelheaded presence had been keenly missed at staff meetings, and Jack for one was happy the man was back with his marines again.
Jack turned and watched as the second tender grumbled to a halt behind the first. The hatch opened, and another six marines emerged from inside, running to catch up with the first group, their rifles reflecting the withering sunshine, their grey uniforms and armor a perfect match for the faded paint of the silent cranes and machinery up and down the dockyards.
“I think we’ve had the day saved for us,” Jack said, bending to look back inside the tender. The dozen crewmembers buckled inside laughed and began to extricate themselves from their seats. One by one, they stepped past Jack and out of the craft, which was opening its cargo bay. The top of the tender’s blocky rear section opened like a book, a small crane unfolding automatically. When Jack saw that the other tender had done the same, he turned to check on the marines, who had reached the juncture of the dock and the shoreline now, about a hundred yards away, and were setting up behind a tarp-covered pile of crates.
Jack squinted down the shoreline at the endless expanse of the dockyards, shimmering in the heat. He frowned, looking for any sign of movement. The lift cranes were still, like skeletal fingers jutting up here and there from the clutter of crates, parked trucks, and palette lifters arranged along the docks. The long line of tall warehouses glowered back at him, their front cargo doors closed. Behind the warehouses, the steep-sided hills, one of them with what looked like a bunker sitting atop its cleared summit, were like silent, blue-green sentries.
Where the hell is everyone?
Jack started after the two work crews, who were walking together in a clump toward the marines, when he heard the pilot call out from inside the tender.
“Commander?”
Wilcox ducked inside, grateful for the coolness of the air-conditioned crew compartment.
“Yes, Mr. Piskorz, what is it?”
Piskorz, a muscular man with dark stubble on his square jaw, turned around in his chair to look at Jack, one eyebrow raised. “Commander, I’m getting a call from the Verdun. We’re to return immediately.”
“Are they worried we’ll get heatstroke?” Jack chuckled.
“No, sir. We have a report of enemy activity in the area.”
Jack’s humor evaporated in an instant. “Get the engines started.” He ran back out onto the dock, cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted to the rest of the group. “Pack it up!”
The sound of the tender’s engines drowned out Jack’s shout. One of the marines turned to look at Jack, who raised both arms and waved them toward himself. The marine nodded and turned to the other troops and the personnel gathered around him. A second later, Jack saw him stand up, then fall to the ground, clutching his arm. For half an instant, Jack wondered what had happened. Then the boom of a rifle shot carried over to him.
A crewmember jerked and fell as the rest of the group hit the deck. Jack did the same, dropping to the hot metal surface of the dock as the roar of gunfire split the air.
“Verdun, we’re taking fire from shore!”
Jack heard the pilot calling out over the smack of bullets on the tender. Ahead of him, the marines at the barricade were returning fire. Jack followed the direction of their rifles and glimpsed the forms of people spread out behind various vehicles and crates along the dock. They were popping out from behind a crate, firing toward the Alliance personnel, then ducking back into cover. Jack spotted an enemy trooper pointing a long tube toward his direction. It was only when the rocket burst from the front of the tube that Jack realized what it was.
“Christ!”
The rocket missed the tender by a few feet, exploding in the water. Droplets showered Jack, who covered his face and head protectively.
“Sir! I need to lift off!” Piskorz called from inside the tender.
“Not without them!” Jack pointed to the Verdun teams at the barricade.
“Then get them here!”
Jack looked toward the barricade, then back at the pilot. “You’re crazy!”
“Sir! I need to go!”
Jack nodded, his mouth going dry. He took a deep breath, then stood. He dashed forward, but dove onto his stomach again as the crushing roar of machine guns erupted from behind him. Jack looked and saw that the tenders had opened fire at the enemy positions with their machine gun turrets. On the shore, the enemies scrambled for cover. Jack took the opportunity to launch himself to his feet and sprint to the pinned-down work crews.
Jack slid to a stop next to Major Osterman, ducking behind a cement barrier.
“You’ve got to get them up!” Osterman was fitting a rifle grenade to his weapon’s muzzle. “We’re stuck here until they move!”
Jack looked at the crewmembers plastered to the deck, covering their heads, shouting. Somewhere, someone was screaming. Most of them had never seen combat in the open. Neither had Jack, for that matter. The other marines popped over the barricade and fired in staccato bursts.
Jack winced as a bullet sizzled over the barricade.
“We’ll cover you,” Osterman shouted. “Get them up.” Osterman turned around, aimed his rifle toward the closest enemy barricade and touched off the grenade. The barricade exploded, and Jack saw several bodies — or at least parts of them — thrown clear. His stomach turned.
“Get them up!” Osterman kicked Jack, who lurched forward and onto his feet.
Not wanting to be hit, he stumbled forward toward the crewmembers.
“We’re getting out of here!” Jack shouted, but none of them seemed to hear. He grabbed the collar of the nearest crewmember and hauled him to his feet. Somehow this broke the spell, and the rest followed, standing up to a low crouch. Jack heard the marines launch another grenade, another explosion. Jack glanced over his shoulder. Between the fire of the marines and the tenders, the enemies seemed to be pinned down.
Jack led the crewmembers back down the dock toward the tenders. They were fifty yards away when a jet of fire and smoke streaked by, striking Piskorz’s tender full on. The craft rocked backward and exploded, ripping the dock apart next to it. Jack tasted blood, realized he had dropped to the dock again. He forced himself to his feet, dragging the crewmembers with him. But the fire from the shore had increased again, and a woman to Jack’s left pitched to the ground, then a man just ahead of him fell limp. Jack stepped over the body and kept running, pushing the rest of the group ahead of him.
Jack was almost to the remaining tender, was starting to reach for the door.
“Shit!”
Another rocket surged past and exploded beside the craft, which started backing away from the dock.
“No, damn you!” Jack tried to wave for the tender to stop, but it was turning, picking up speed, and surging for the Verdun. Another crewmember fell, holding his leg. Bullets whistled and thwacked around them. Jack pulled his people back down flat against the pier. He looked back at the marines at the barricade. No longer held back by machine gun fire, enemy soldiers — at least a hundred — were closing in, moving from cover to cover. One of the marines fired toward the oncoming group, dropping two of his targets, but the surge of attackers continued unabated.
Jack saw an enemy soldier aim a rocket launcher at the marine barricade.
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