We fight for freedom sta.., p.1
We Fight for Freedom (Starship Freedom Book 3), page 1
STARSHIP FREEDOM III
We Fight for Freedom
by
Daniel Arenson
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
AFTERWORD
NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON
KEEP IN TOUCH
Illustration © Tom Edwards - TomEdwardsDesign.com
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CHAPTER ONE
The train chugged along the Trans-Siberian Railway, carrying its victims to the alien feast.
Bastian crouched in the snow, staring through binoculars. He watched the distant train. A plume of smoke trailed above like a soul fleeing a body. From here, even with binoculars, the train seemed barely larger than a red thread among the snowy hills and canyons. But Bastian knew what was inside. He knew the horror that awaited those trapped in the train. He knew of the suffering, the nightmares, the banquets where the aliens fed on their prey.
And he knew that he must end it.
The rahs, vicious alien predators, had taken over Earth. Hunting. Killing. Devouring. They looked like spiders—if spiders were the size of horses. They had slaughtered millions of humans. They were busy butchering the rest.
But the Alliance marines were here. And that meant hope.
"Hey, Bastian!" Alice poked him. "Gimme a turn with the binoculars."
"Shh."
"But I can't see! Gimme."
She grabbed the binoculars and pulled them toward her. The strap was still around Bastian's neck. It yanked his head sideways.
"Let go of me, you gangly freak!" he said.
"Shh! We're on a secret mission. You have to be quiet."
Alice stared through the binoculars, gazing at the distant train. Bastian managed to pull the strap off his neck, nearly garroting himself in the process.
Two hundred marines were here in the wastelands of Siberia, crouched low on the mountainside. They wore white coats, fur-lined hoods, and snowshoes, blending into the landscape. Mordecai plasma rifles hung across their backs. It was snowing again. The snowflakes clung to their eyelids and eyebrows, and their breath frosted. Bastian had grown up in Nebraska, hardly a tropical climate, and he was built like a healthy walrus, but even he shivered in the bitter cold of Siberia.
"Hey, Bas," Alice said.
"What now?"
"What do you call three spiders cheering you on?"
Bastian sighed. "What?"
"Rah rah rah."
"Alice, shut up and give me back my binoculars."
He tried to wrestle them back, but she was having none of it. And wrestling anything from Alice Allenby was downright impossible. She was, after all, an Olympic wrestler. Or had been before this damn war.
Normally Bastian would have worn his EyeSpy military contact lenses, which could zoom in as powerfully as any binoculars. You could look at the moon with those lenses and count the domes of Lunatropolis. But in Siberia, the cold would freeze those contacts onto your eyeballs. So old-fashioned binoculars it was. Which Alice was determined to hog.
"I don't understand why we're here," muttered Sergeant Hicks. The burly grunt knelt nearby, peering around a boulder at the train tracks. Frost turned his black stubble white. "If you ask me, we should let the aliens eat all the damn Ruskies they please."
Bastian spun toward the sergeant, glowering. "There are five thousand souls trapped in that train, Hicks. They're crammed in like cattle. Some of them are Americans like us. Others are from different countries. And yes, many are Russians. And you know what? To the aliens, we're all just food. They don't distinguish between humans. So neither will we."
Hicks snorted and spat. His spit froze at once. "Gee, what an inspiring speech, sir. Kumbaya!"
Alice leaped across the snow to the sergeant, grabbed his collar, and twisted. "You watch how you talk to the colonel, you hear me, Hicks? Bastian might have been just a captain last year, and he might make cliché speeches, and he might need to lose a few pounds—especially around the waist—"
"Alice, stand down," Bastian said. "Before you completely destroy my reputation."
Alice snarled at Hicks like a wild animal, her breath frosting, then released the man. She handed Bastian the binoculars. "Here. I'm done looking." She slammed a plasma battery into her rifle. "I'm ready for killing."
Bastian looked back toward the train. This railway was centuries old, and the train moved slowly compared to modern modes of transportation. The rahs had clawships—massive vessels that could travel among the stars. But those clawships were up in space, battling the human fleet across the solar system. The aliens wouldn't waste a precious warship on ferrying meat. So they had hijacked Earth trains and stuffed the cattle cars full of their meals.
Humans. Women. Children. To the rahs—nothing but meat.
Bastian tightened his grip on his rifle. He gritted his teeth, watching the train approach.
You sons of bitches killed my best friend, he thought. I'm going to hunt down every last one of you alien bastards.
The train was now close enough for everyone to see, even without binoculars. Bastian looked over his shoulder at the company he commanded. The marines knelt on the mountainside in their white coats, looking like lumps of snow. Here was the Badgers Company, part of the Freedom Brigade, the marine force of the starship Freedom. A small force. Just two hundred fighters. But Bastian knew of no braver soldiers.
The Badgers Company had defended Fort Liberty from the alien onslaught. They had saved the dreadnought Freedom from bloodthirsty boarding parties. They had liberated the mighty frigate Churchill from her rah captors. They were professional alien killers, every one of them. If anyone could complete this mission, it was them.
The train chugged closer. It was moments away now.
With a thought, Bastian summoned MindPlay, his neural operating system. The translucent menu hovered before him. His MindLink, a microchip embedded in his brain, wove the hallucination. Two hundred avatars floated before him like fireflies, each representing another soldier in Badgers Company. He highlighted the entire group, then sent them all a telepathic message.
"Remember, soldiers. We do this quick and silent. We jam their signals. We board the train and kill the rahs. Then we ride this train right into Anabar." His voice dropped. "The feeding camp."
Anabar. The very word chilled his bones. He had heard the tales. He could barely believe them. But if they were only half true, Anabar was hell on Earth, plain and simple. It was a place he must destroy.
Behind him, Hicks snorted. The sergeant sent his own telepathic message. They could all hear his grainy voice in their minds. "I say we bomb this train, then nuke the whole damn feeding camp from orbit. We'll kill the rahs and the Ruskies. Two birds with one stone, if you ask me."
"Nobody asked you," Alice growled. "Hicks, I swear to God, if you don't shut up, I'll make sure you're court-martialed for gross insubordination."
Hicks gave her a mocking salute. "Oh, yes, ma'am. Oh wait! I forgot. You're not an officer, so you can't court-martial anyone." Instead of saluting, he flipped her off.
"Enough!" Bastian glared at them. "Both of you—silence! Get ready. You know the plan. And Hicks? One more word out of you, and I'll have you mopping latrines for the rest of the war. I am an officer, and I can court-martial you."
The grunt glowered but said nothing.
And there came the train, roaring down the tracks toward them. The locomotive carved through the ice, scattering frozen crystals the size of fists. The wheels stormed across the tracks, blowing back clouds of snow. The horn blew, rippling the air, deep and mournful and deafeningly loud. Snow rumbled down the mountainsides, and icicles snapped off boulders.
This had been a human train once, but the rahs had changed it. The aliens had painted strange symbols across the red boxcars—spirals, jagged lines, and skulls. Bastian's MindLink translated the hieroglyphs. He read a few of the crudely etched messages.
FOOD FOR SPIDERS
HUMAN DELICACIES
WE CAME TO EARTH TO EAT THE APES
Cobwebs clung to the train, supporting the strange devices of the enemy. Jagged black spikes thrust up from the locomotive, crackling with electricity. Towers of bones rose along the boxcars like the dorsal spikes of a dinosaur, and webs dangled between them. It was a communication system, Bas tian thought. Those spikes must be antennae. The rahs were a spacefaring civilization, but their technology was often crude and ugly. These aliens didn't build anything graceful or subtle. They dealt with bones, webs, and meat.
"Remember, everyone," Bastian telepathized. "First Platoon, Second, Third—you enter the train cars and battle the rahs. Fourth Platoon—you're with me. We land right on the roof and tear those antennae off. Godspeed, everyone. Switch on your sliders and wait for my order."
The soldiers crouched on the mountainside. Bastian located his snowshoes on the MindWeb; they appeared as a device with a neural connection. With a thought, he transformed the snowshoes. They lengthened and hardened, forming skis. Across the mountainside, his fellow marines did the same.
The locomotive rumbled along the track below, moving closer. The spiders had defaced it, carving the locomotive into an alien face. The cowcatcher now looked like a grinning mouth full of teeth. The windows blazed with red fire like eight furious eyes. The antennae thrust from the top like the horns of a demon. They had made this train a monster.
It came closer, closer, a demon rising from hell, hungry for their flesh.
"Hold…," Bastian said.
They crouched low on their skis, staring down the mountainside at the tracks.
"Hold…," he whispered.
The soldiers tensed. They gripped their guns.
The train roared by below.
Bastian shouldered his rifle and fired two shots. Plasma bolts slammed into the antennae on the locomotive, melting them. Hopefully that would stop the rahs from calling for help. But he'd have to get closer and make sure.
"Go!" Bastian cried.
* * * * *
Raising clouds of snow, the marines skied downhill at breakneck speed.
The train kept racing along, its antennae burnt and mangled. Screeches sounded from inside the locomotive. There were some very pissed-off aliens inside.
The marines kept skiing downhill. Within seconds, they were at the train track.
As the train raced along, Bastian glimpsed faces and hands in the windows. Humans were trapped inside, packed like cattle, pale and freezing. They reached through the barred windows. Their faces twisted in agony.
"Help us!" they cried.
Alien eyes appeared in the train windows. Claws slashed. Blood flew out the windows, and prisoners screamed.
"Goddammit, they're killing the hostages!" Alice said.
"Keep your cool and secure this train," said Bastian.
With his MindLink, Bastian transformed his skis again. The blades turned to springboards, hurling him into the air. He felt a little ridiculous, like some cartoon detective, but the technology was useful.
Alongside the tracks, his marines springboarded up too. Most of them gripped the walls of the rushing boxcars. Clinging on like lizards, they inched along the walls, searching for the doors. But Bastian, along with Alice and the rest of Platoon Four, flew higher. They rose over the train, then swooped onto the boxcars' roofs.
One unlucky soldier, a skinny corporal, flew too far. He overshot the train, then fell across the other side of the tracks. Unfortunately for him, the train was racing along an icy cliff. The corporal's scream drowned in the depths. Bastian just hoped there was enough snow at the bottom to cushion the poor guy's fall.
Bastian was aiming for the locomotive. But he misjudged how fast the train was moving. He ended up landing three railcars back. He skidded on the icy roof. The tips of his skis thrust over the edge. He found himself staring down the cliff into a storm of snow and jagged rocks. Arms windmilling, he wobbled on the icy roof. With another thought, he turned his skis into military boots again, the soles spiked. He took a step back from the ledge.
Alice landed behind him, slid across the roof, and nearly tumbled down the cliff. Bastian grabbed her, pulled her back to safety.
"Thanks, boss."
She had to telepathize. Even shouting would barely be heard up here. The train rumbled along the tracks, carving through the ice and snow. Chunks of ice flew every which way, glittering shards the size of apples. Some flew right onto the roof, clattering against Bastian. The snow soared at the train's sides in two white waves. Bastian felt like Moses parting the Red Sea. Well, white sea in this case.
Riding the train like a surfer, Bastian looked behind him. Several marines were gripping the rooftops, hopping from car to car, searching for more antennae and melting them. Other marines crashed through the boxcar doors. Alien screeches sounded inside. Gunfire rattled. Bastian couldn't see inside the train from up here, not directly. But using the MindWeb, he could connect to his soldiers' neural implants. He could see what they saw.
He peeked through the eyes of the marines inside the train. Just for a second. He glimpsed crowded, dark interiors, each boxcar crammed full of prisoners. Claws rose. Red eyes blazed. Jaws opened wide, revealing fangs. Soldiers shouted and opened fire.
But Bastian couldn't spare all that too much attention. He had to focus on what his own eyes were seeing. Which wasn't anything good.
Through the flying snow and ice, he saw a dark figure ahead.
A rah was climbing onto the locomotive.
No matter how many times Bastian saw the creatures, they always made him shudder. The spider was gargantuan, easily the size of a horse. Its eight red eyes swirled like spheres of blood. Its eight legs gripped the locomotive, the claws digging into the metal. A forest of spikes rose from the rah's back. Each spike impaled another severed human head. The aliens enjoyed collecting their sick trophies.
Bastian expected the alien to race along the train and attack him. But instead, the massive spider gripped the mangled antennae Bastian had shot. The alien collected the pieces of twisted, broken metal. Spewing silk from its spinneret, the alien began fusing the broken pieces.
"Bastian, it's trying to fix the transmitters!" Alice said. "It's gonna call for help!"
"Thank you, Sergeant Obvious," Bastian said.
He shouldered his rifle, aimed at the spider, and fired. But just then the train made a sharp turn, wheeling around the mountainside. Bastian swayed. His shot went wide. The plasma bolt slammed into the mountainside, and snow cascaded.
Snowdrifts buffeted the train.
A few wheels rose from the track. The other wheels sparked. Clouds of snow washed over Bastian. He slid across the icy roof, skidding uncontrollably toward the edge.
Alice couldn't catch him. Another rah was scuttling toward her. She fell onto her back, firing her gun at the looming beast.
As he slid across the ice, Bastian scrabbled for purchase, found none.
He slipped off the boxcar roof.
* * * * *
As he tumbled off the train, he reached out.
He caught one of the boxcar's barred windows.
His fingers wrapped around a cold iron bar. He clung on for dear life.
His legs dangled, kicking in midair. As the train chugged along, snow and ice flew from the tracks, pounding him. His fingers were slipping on the icy bar. Below him, he saw the cliff plunge into a canyon. Red eyes shone below. Spiders were moving in the shadowy depths. Bastian gulped and looked away. He tightened his grip on the window bar.
He swung up his second arm, grabbed another bar. He pulled himself higher, and he slammed one boot against the boxcar wall. The steel tip punched a hole into the wall.
Pale faces stared between the window bars. Pale gray fingers reached out.
"Help us!"
But he couldn't. Not now. Right now he needed to rejoin Alice on the boxcar roof. He needed to kill the rah fixing the antennae.
"I'll come back for you," he said. "I'll—"
A claw thrust between the window bars. It sliced Bastian's left hand.
He screamed, more in surprise than pain. His bloody left hand slipped off the bars. He clung on with his right hand alone. A rah screeched inside the racing train.
Another claw thrust out the window, this one aiming at Bastian's right hand. The one holding the window bar.
Bastian had no choice. He let go.
As he fell toward the cliff, he reached out and caught a gash in the wall—the one his boot had cut.
He clung on desperately. His boots grazed across the ground, scattering icy ballast. The train dragged him along. His calves slammed into ice and snow. He howled in pain, curling his legs up, barely clinging on. The canyon spread below him. His fingers were losing their grip. He was about to fall into the pit. And the train kept racing.
