Gateway1 Drop Zone

Gateway 1 - Drop Zone

They'd assembled on the main hangar deck of the carrier, all of the 'B' company combat troops that the

Andromeda

carried, all of them attentive as Colonel Sadler stepped up onto a dais to address them.

"We need a small raiding party. A HALO-jump to the field-generator on Esral and take it out. Without the generator they're on hand-helds and that we can shield against. We need two hours to bring the carrier in and then we have them, but the defences are too strong with that generator working."

Colonel Sadler smiled sadly. "This could be a one-way mission. We

believe

they think that we don't know the location of the generator. Two good operatives died getting us that information. We think a raid by a small party is the best option. We're carrying out a strike to the east as a diversion and a flitter will trail the strike craft and drop a team from altitude." He paused and surveyed the assembled troops. "I require volunteers."

As one the troops stood. Sadler regarded them solemnly and then nodded. "Nothing more than I expected," he said so softly that no-one heard him. He gestured to the other officer on the dais. "Major Ellis will brief the team."

Ellis stepped forward and glanced at a list in his hand. "Captain Janizi, Lieutenant Alson, Lafitte, Owengo, Larsen, Mackie, Suzuki, Ewen, Mallory, Orsini. Please remain. The rest of the troop is dismissed. Carry on."

'They already had us picked. So much for volunteers,' Larsen thought. She looked around at the others who Ellis had named, as the rest of the troop filed out of the briefing room, backward glances showing emotions ranging from envy to pity. As the door closed Ellis gestured the ten forward.

"Please be seated." He looked at them. "You will be going in as two teams. Captain Janizi will lead the first team, team A, consisting of Lafitte, Ewen, Larsen and Mackie. Lieutenant Alson will be in command of the other team, team B; Suzuki, Owengo, Mallory and Orsini.

Larsen looked around at her fellow team members, then at the other team. 'If anything goes wrong, we won't be missed unduly,' she thought. 'We're all good, very good, in fact, but they've probably kept back the best.'

"Right," said Ellis. "Listen up. Team A. You'll be dropped to the North of the target. Lafitte and Ewen, you hit the target. Larsen and Mackie, you're perimeter defence. Team B, you'll go in from the East. Suzuki and Mallory, hit, Owengo and Orsini, perimeter. You'll HALO jump from four klicks altitude. Operate your grav-chutes at one klick. The generator is three-sixty metres above mean sea-level, so you'll have about six hundred to play with. It will be a night drop, obviously. You will remain concealed overnight and through the following day. The terrain is heavily wooded, so you should be able to hide without problems. Orbital surveillance suggests that the guard is changed at twenty hundred and oh-six hundred local time. We want you to hit them at oh-five hundred local, when they're relaxing near the end of their shift. The diversionary attack will no doubt be forced to withdraw and we want them to think we've been beaten off. Any questions?"

"RV for pickup, sir?" Orsini.

"One klick north of the generator. Ten hundred local time." Ellis smiled grimly. "That assumes the generator is out. If you fail, there will be an alternate RV ten klicks north, twenty-seven hours later, ten hundred local again." He looked around at them again. "Any other questions? No? Okay, then, dismissed. Rendezvous on the hangar deck at twenty-two hundred ship time tonight."

Larsen looked at her watch. Sixteen-fifty. Five hours to go. A hand touched her shoulder.

"Coming for some chow?" asked Sally Ewen.

"I guess so."

* * * * *

She'd still been chanting her battle-mantra when she realised the 'grav-chute had failed. They had come out of orbit in the flitter and had HALO-jumped from four klicks, as planned. She had done this so many times before that when she pressed the button for the 'grav-chute the absence of the gently-increasing deceleration took a moment to register and when it did she looked around wildly for the rest of the team. No-one was in sight and it was only when she thought to look up that she saw vague shapes against the starlit sky way above her. She looked down. About five hundred metres still to go. She was down to less than two hundred by the time she found the ring to the archaic cloth backup chute. Would the damn thing even work?

One-fifty metres now, and the stupid strings and ribbons were just fluttering above her. "At least it will be quick," she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. The jolt of the opening chute hit her just above the tree-tops, and she floated gently into the centre of the enemy patrol. She fought her way to her knees and hit the release. About to grab at her pulse-rifle, she changed her mind and slowly raised her hands. The three pulse-rifles and two needle guns pointed at her made the odds too long.

"Hands on top of your head." The command was accompanied by a gesture with a needle gun. Slowly, she complied, thinking furiously, but collapsed into an unconscious heap as a stunner touched her neck.

Returning consciousness was painful. She was bound hand and foot and blindfolded, and her body-armour, tunic and equipment were gone. Surprise! Yeah, right. From the motion she surmised that she was in a vehicle of some kind. The journey was not long and she had barely registered the fact that the vehicle had stopped before she was dragged out and dumped unceremoniously on the ground. Hands untied her feet and then she was kicked in the side.

"On your feet, Terran bitch." The voice was harsh, the Standard strongly accented. Pulovan, or maybe Tolian, she thought. They both sounded similar. She managed to struggle to her feet, awkward with hands tied behind the back. Hands turned her and pushed her and she moved cautiously forward, feeling her way with her feet.

A step caught her foot and she plunged forward, twisting to try to take the fall on her shoulder. Her head hit the wall and harsh laughter filled her ears as she knelt, dazed.

"Clumsy bitch." A hand took her arm and dragged her roughly to her feet, then thrust her through a doorway, along what seemed to be a hallway, then through another door. She heard the door locked behind her. "We'll see you later, bitch." She didn't care for the promise in the tone.

Groping her way around the room led her to a rough pallet where she lay face down to try and ease the ache in the arms bound behind her. She lost track of time, but when the door was unlocked and the blindfold was ripped roughly from her eyes, the position of the sun told her it was late afternoon. She closed her eyes against the brightness and blinked away the tears. A club poked her in the ribs.

"On your feet."

She struggled awkwardly, clumsy without the use of her hands. Impatiently, the soldier grabbed her by the hair and pulled her onto her feet.

"Ow," she gasped.

"Silence!" The admonition was accompanied by a rap in the ribs with the club. She winced.

"Move," said the soldier, pushing her towards the door. She stumbled and hit the jamb, biting down a yelp. The soldier followed her into the corridor, pushing her to the left. Awkward with her hands bound, she was prodded along to a closed door. The soldier pushed her against the wall, his club in the hollow of her throat, holding her in place, and knocked on the door. A voice within answered. The soldier opened the door and pushed her inside.

An immaculately uniformed Tolian officer was seated behind a desk. He gazed at her unwinkingly for a moment and then stood, coming round the desk to stand before her. He smiled, a smile totally without warmth.

"So nice of you to drop in, my dear." His Standard was virtually accentless. "You should have told us you were coming. We could have made you welcome." He gestured deprecatingly. "Instead you made us treat you so badly. A great pity. Now tell me, my dear, where are the rest of your compatriots?"

Hope flared, although she kept her face impassive. If the rest of the landing party had made it, she might have a chance. She glanced at the officer, waiting apparently patiently.

"Corporal Larsen, AJ-236-9, United Planets Federation Navy," she intoned, "I demand treatment as a prisoner of war in accordance with the Tri-System Agreement of 2341."

She never saw the blow coming, nor the signal, but the soldier behind her brought his club around in a whistling arc into her ribs, sending her staggering sideways into the wall. The soldier dragged her upright and brought her back to face the officer again.

"I asked you a simple question, my dear. Where are your compatriots hiding. You know it's only a matter of time before we have them, don't you?"

"Corporal Larsen...," she began when another blow sent her reeling.

Forced again in front of the officer, she saw him shaking his head in reproach. "So simple a question, my dear. Please answer."

Again, stubbornly, she began, "Corporal Larsen...," holding herself braced in expectation of another blow. To her surprise the officer signalled 'no'. He smiled sadly at her then swung his hand with all of his might into her face. She went crashing to the floor, the coppery taste of blood in her mouth, her ribs aching from the blows.

"Such stubborn futility," said the officer. He smiled. "I shall give you to my men to enjoy."

Spitting out blood, nursing a loose tooth, she said, "The Tri-Syste...."

His face darkened with anger. "We do not recognise the Tri-System Agreement! Anyone who comes against us, anyone, will feel our wrath." He gestured. "Take her away. Do what you will, but keep her alive. She may yet tell us what we need to know."

"Aye, sir," said the soldier, and dragged her upright by her hair. "Move!"

Corporal AJ-236-9, Larsen, Karen, was thrown unceremoniously back into her cell. The soldier stood over her and prodded her ribs with his club. "I'll be back later. With company. You can entertain us."

A devil took her. "I'm not a very good singer."

A kick in the ribs was her reward for the levity. "You're a female. We're males. That's all you need to know." He leered. "See you later, bitch."

Alone, Larsen struggled onto the bed and considered her options. Suicide she discarded. So long as she was alive, there was hope. It had all seemed so simple at the briefing on the carrier. Larsen tried to make herself comfortable on the bed in her cell, cursing the bonds holding her hands. 'Why did I join the fuckin' Navy in the first place?' she asked herself. She gave a hollow laugh. 'Because my father and my grandfather did. Fuckin' family tradition.'

The rattle of the door brought her back to the present. Her jailor came into the cell with two others. None of the three were armed, but one carried a neural whip.

"On your feet, Terran bitch." Larsen ignored him, but a big hand grasped the front of her shirt and hauled her to her feet.

"Stand still." A knife blade appeared in front of her. "I'm going to cut your bonds. Any attempt to escape and I'll use this on your belly instead."

The knife cut easily through Larsen's binding and she brought her hands in front of her and rubbed at her wrists, stimulating circulation, wincing as the blood flowed.

"On the bed, bitch. On your back, hands over your head. Grip the bars on the headboard."

The order was punctuated with a delicate jab in her ribs with the knife. Barely a touch, but she saw the blood blossom on her shirt. Resigned, she lay back and gripped the bars on the metal hospital-style headboard. Her jailor produced a pair of handcuffs and fastened her wrists together behind the headboard. Surprisingly, she was almost comfortable.

"Don't move, or you'll regret it," the knife-wielder said. He pinched the material of her combat trousers just above her boot and pushed the knife through the material, slitting it, then, twisting, ran the blade up her leg, to the waistband, slitting that, and her belt, with an upward rip of the blade. He did the same with the other leg, then grabbed the material and ripped the ruined remnants of the trousers, and her panties, from her body. There was a thin line of blood on her left thigh, presumably from the knife.

"Now her tits," one of the other men said, laughing.

"Why not, but is she big enough for your tastes? You like them bigger, don't you?"

"You know I do, but she'll do for now."The knife slashed upwards through her shirt, her bra, and a flick of her jailor's wrist left her naked to their view. Except for her boots. She almost laughed.

"Hey, look," said one of the other men, "she's shaved her pussy for us."

"No," she said, "I did it for the other lice." The casual back-handed blow dazed her for a moment, and she had the hot taste of blood in her mouth again.

"Watch your mouth, bitch. And see what you're going to get in a moment." The jailor loosened his trousers and brought out his half-hard erection. He began stroking it.

The alarm and the distant gunfire surprised them all. The jailor hastily covered himself and he and the others hurried out. As he locked the door, the jailor grinned at her. "Keep it warm, bitch, we'll be back."

Alone, Larsen tried to analyse her position. The cuffs were snug on her wrists, so there was no hope of wriggling a hand free. It took her only seconds to establish that. The bed headboard she was cuffed to was metal. She tried rattling and shaking it without success. It was solid. Until someone released her, she was secure. She told herself to relax and began the self-hypnosis they had been taught to enable them to relax in an impossible situation. Surprisingly, she fell asleep.

The sun was well down when she was woken by her prison door being opened. Not her jailor this time, it was the Tolian officer who came through the door. The immaculate uniform was rumpled now and the smile was gone. He stared at her, face strained, a pulse beating at the corner of his mouth. He moved over to the bed and stared down at her and without warning his hand came round and cracked against her face.

"Your miserable companions have destroyed our field-generator, and now they think they can defeat us." The humourless smile came back to his face. "It has not been a good day for me, but I think you will make it better. Before you die, you will entertain me, bitch."

"If you want me to dance, you'll need to unfasten my hands, and I can't do a striptease, because your men destroyed my clothes." Larsen wondered, even as she said it, why she was trying to provoke the Tolian, but this time the expected blow did not fall.

"Very funny, ha, ha. No, the entertainment I have in mind requires only your presence. You can even entertain me dead, but I much prefer it when you're alive. That way, I've found, my enjoyment is much improved if you die just as I attain my pleasure." The Tolian stepped back and removed his uniform jacket, then stripped off his shirt. The pale chest was well-muscled, in just the build that Larsen liked in a man. He sat down on the bed beside her and pulled off his boots.

"I doubt if you're virgin, Terran bitch. If you are, you'll be the first I've ever come across." The Tolian stood and unfastened his trousers, pushing them and his underwear off together. Naked, he turned to her, hard and ready. He stroked his erection, the cold, empty smile on his face again. "Magnificent, isn't it?"

In truth, Larsen had only seen one to compare with it, most recently the previous weekend in the moments before she felt it penetrate her. Only, that time, she had been ready and wanting it, and its possessor, Andy Bennett, her current lover. Not so this time. To her surprise, the Tolian bent to his uniform jacket and took a capped tube from his pocket. Opening it, he squeezed a colourless gel from it and rubbed it over the head of his erection. Larsen tried to conceal her surprise but the Tolian noticed.

"For my pleasure, not yours," he said. "No doubt you will be dry, not ready for me. This way, I can take you as

I

want you."

"Lucky you," said Larsen lightly, her mind racing.

"Yes, Terran, you're right. I

am

lucky. And so are you, because your last thoughts will be of me." The Tolian knelt quickly between her legs, before she had a chance to kick him. He wriggled forward, and she felt the blunt tip of his erection in her cleft.

"You like that, Terran? Of course you do, you've never felt anything as good as you're going to." He gazed at her, a half smile on his lips, one hand pressing her down, the other rubbing his hardness up and down her cleft. To her shame, she felt herself moisten and the Tolian laughed. "So, the Terran bitch likes it, does she?"

Larsen spat in his face, but the expected blow never landed. The Tolian wiped her spittle off with his finger.

"You'll die more slowly for that, Terran.

Much

more slowly." Abruptly, he pushed into her and she yelped with pain. He gave another of his cold smiles. "This is for my pleasure, Terran, not yours." His hips pushed forward and she felt his full length inside her. A tiny corner of her brain acknowledged that in other circumstances she would be feeling pleasure, but her mind was racing. The Tolian pulled back and pushed into her again and she gasped.

"Oh, the Terran bitch feels pleasure, does she?"

"You wish," said Larsen, teeth gritted. Could she take him? She brought her legs up and hooked her heels together behind him, then abruptly straightened her legs, trying to crush him. His fist took her in the face and she collapsed back. He stopped and looked down at her.

"Just what did you hope to achieve with that ridiculous move?" He moved suddenly and she found herself pressed back, her legs over his shoulders. "All you have done, Terran, is induce me to enjoy you even more before you die." He pulled back and rammed into her again, brutal, careless of her. He began to thrust vigorously into her, and to her shame she felt herself getting wetter. "Enjoying it, bitch?" he murmured.

She spat in his face again but he laughed, careless, thrusting into her.

The explosion took them both by surprise. Close, it shook the room and dust drifted down from the roofbeams. The Tolian stopped in mid-thrust and lifted his head and shoulders, listening. There were yells nearby and he began to withdraw from her.

"Too bad, Terran," he said. "Now you die quickly, instead." Larsen's legs were still over his shoulders and as he lifted she locked her feet together and threw herself sideways, twisting, careless of the cuffs, feeling and hearing her arm break even as she heard the snap of his neck. She kicked him off her as he collapsed in death, just as the door burst open. Sergeant Callaghan and a trooper she didn't recognise filled the doorway.

"Larsen! Are you okay?"

She winced and took a deep breath. "Broken arm, sarge, and some bruises, maybe a cracked rib, but otherwise I'm fine."

Callaghan turned to the trooper. "Bolt cutters and a medic. Here. Stat!"

"Done, sarge." The trooper exited at a run.

Callaghan looked at the corpse. "Rape?"

"Yeah. But before the attack it was going to be three of his men. It was rape, Sarge, yeah, but I think he was more civilised, although he was going to kill me, so I have no regrets in getting him first." She gave a brief smile at Callaghan's curt nod. "Sarge?"

"Yes?"

"How are we doing?"

The sergeant shrugged. "I don't honestly know, we've encountered hardly any resistance, and then it was brief. Almost as if they were making a statement, a sort of, 'hey, we fought, but there were too many of you'. Callaghan shrugged. "Crazy thing is, they outnumber us, about five to three." Running feet could be heard approaching and Callaghan tensed, ready, but it was the trooper, carrying bolt cutters, with a medic right behind him. It was the work of moments to cut the handcuffs free, and they gently eased her arm around, the medic giving her a quick injection of pain-killer.