by Isaac Stone
Tank and I were determined not to let it happen.
“Give me everything Orlando!” I yelled across the audio at Orlando. “Tran, get those lasers charged. We might only have a few chances to take the Roka starfighters out before they hit that ship.
The Roka were determined to smash right into the Great Khan. They could put it out of action at the speed they moved. Each ship would become a guided missile, capable of dodging anything the Great Khan launched. They could easily out-maneuver the laser array on the mothership.
Tran opened up with a pulse of laser beams right into the thruster of the Roka starfighter in front of us. I was pushed back hard on the back of my coning tower and I watched him go to work. As the starfighter fell apart into a cloud of metal, the icon of it turned red.
Two more to go.
This time Tank unleashed his chain cannon and blew a series of holes right through the armor around the second Roka starfighter. Its icon went red too as the shells detonated on impact.
One more to go.
This had to be the leader.
“We’ve got to take him out,” I yelled at Tank over the audio as I watched Tank try and fail to hit the starfighter with lasers, as the enemy continued to evade the incoming fire almost preternaturally. “He’s got some of the gift I think, like we have, I can feel it,” I turned to screen where Tran was running his hands over a weapons display. “How we doing with the lasers?” I asked him.
“Charge is low,” he responded. “I could try a Tar Missile, but at this range it might not reach the target in time.”
“Chain cannon?”
“Might be a better option, boss, if we can get close enough.”
“Let’s go with that one.”
I turned to the screen with Medoro's face. He was busy loading the ammunition into the feed. “You ready down there?” I asked him.
Medoro snapped a level in place and stood back. He patted the autoloader. “Ready to go, boss,” he acknowledged.
Two minutes later, the final Roka ship fell apart when our chain cannon opened-up on the rear assembly. The pilot tried one final position change to out maneuver us, but we caught him thirty seconds away from impact. The only thing that hit the Great Khan was a shower of metal and parts.
“That was cutting it to close to the bone,” I heard Tank say over the audio. Orlando pulled us up and over the Horde mothership.
“At least we got him,” I sent back.
In another minute, we were headed to the orbital station. This wasn’t over by a wide margin.
6
The second part of the operation, as conveyed to us by Latasha, was to board the orbital station and take possession of it. Blasting it out of space would’ve been easy, but there were still non-combatants on board. Plus, the Ove Station was still valuable, and it would be a waste to scuttle it.
Hard Rain was already in position by the time we arrived back to the station. It didn’t take the mothership long to destroy the exterior weapon array on it. They were meant to keep away pirates and raiders, not fully outfitted battleships. As we came into range, I watched the Hard Rain sear off the last exterior laser with a combination of two of its own quantum lasers. The battle station didn’t have enough power left to offer resistance.
“Captain says wait until the Great Khan docks with it,” Latasha informed us. “They have a small contingent of tactical marines who will form a beachhead against whatever resistance awaits.”
I watched as the Horde ship pulled up and slammed a boarding tube into the side of the station. It took thirty seconds for the Horde to burn through the hull on the other side.
“So where do we get to board it?” I asked Latasha. It was hard to see if there were any other openings inside the station.
“Look below,” she told me. “Hordesmen are inside and have control of the systems.”
I watched a massive door slide open, enough for an entire squadron of FAS ships to enter. Of course, this doubled as a repair station and they’d want all the room they had to operate.
We cruised inside and managed to touch town with little effort. A gantry swung out to both ships and hooked up to our side doors. Just the same, I told my crew to keep their tops on in case there was rapid decompression at any point inside the station, fights like this can get nasty. You can’t risk such things.
We grabbed our personal weapons and made our way across the ramp. There were no signs of anyone, but I made sure they held the heat-swords we carried upright just in case. I wished for a good hand laser to use. However, those things could kill the user inside a space ship, and anyone nearby, if it burnt a hole to the outside. Same went for projectile weapons.
Tank was out of his FAS before we opened the door to ours's. This time I was the first one on the ground. It helps to lead the way, to show the men behind you that you’re serious about what has to be done.
We kept our helmets on, to be ready. No reason to make a mess of things. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to lure us out in the open without head protection, and then blew the seals on the life support systems.
“Any signs of hostiles?” I asked Tank over the audio. I didn’t see a thing, but he was closer to the hatch on the main section of the station.
“Nothing so far,” he let me know. “I don't expect it to stay quiet.” Tank stood at the hatch with a short heat-sword in one hand and a reinforced steel buckler in the other.
I carried the same short heat-sword and buckler combination, while Orlando and Tran held long heat-swords. Medoro followed in the rear with his and waited to see what the rest of us would do, reminding me that this was his first boarding action. Heat-swords were impressive weapons to be sure, being superheated blades capable of cutting through flesh and armor, but not quite so sharp or hot that they'd punch through the hull of a ship.
Tank walked up to the hatch and punched out a code, after he’d looked it up on the display he wore on one arm. We waited until the light over the hatch turned green. After it unlatched, Tank pushed the door open and moved inside.
We followed him through it and to lock on the other side. This wasn’t easy, as only one door could stay open at a time. There was no way to override this function; it was necessary to keep the entire station from decompression. Soon, all of us were inside the orbital station.
“Keep the helmets on?” Rod asked. He was the pilot on Tank’s crew.
“Until you here otherwise,” Tank replied. “It’s too risky to do anything else. We each have three hours of air in the suits. Should be plenty for us to do what we need.”
“I talked to the Horde leader,” Tank informed me as we worked our way down the corridor, “They’re already inside the station on their end. We supposed to work our way down the connection until we meet up in the middle.”
I’d heard about the Horde in action and hoped they’d let us take prisoners. The Horde wasn’t known to do that. It’s what made them so effective as part of the free-fire zone protection system. The UDF butted up against multitudes of independent territories in space that was loathed for it. The UDF was by far the largest civilization in the known universe, and the most powerful, though it was certainly not universally loved. The only thing that kept the independents from launching all-out attack was the knowledge that they’d have to cut their way through several Orders. The Horde was one known to fight to the last man.
“FAS One and Two on board the battle station,” I let Latasha know. “Any news from Captain?”
“Just to come back safe and with a prisoner to interrogate. And make sure the hostages are alive. We have a location of the crew they captured.”
A holographic image of the station appeared over with a red dot that showed our location, an orange one for the Horde, and a yellow one for the prisoners. The Roka was represented by a series of green dots in the midst of it all.
“Time to move,” Tank pointed out. we began to walk down the corridor.
There wasn’t much to see. It was the standard industria
l grade passageway with large gaps for machinery in wall niches. A layer of industrial grease and oil coated the walls where generations of mechanics had plied their trade. I wondered how long they were stuck on this floating tin ball, with few people to interact with, at any given time.
The attack came at the intersection of two corridors. I couldn’t tell from the Hard Rain feed where all the forces for and against us where located, but they had to be close. The motion detectors weren’t of much use inside the confined passages and, with our helmets on, it was impossible to hear anything on the outside.
As Tank stepped into the conjunction, a Roka fanatic tried to stab him with a long knife. The man came out of the side. He wore no suit or body armor of any type. This made him mobile, but left him with no protection.
I caught the motion out of one eye as a figure in the Roka militant uniform of white pants, bare chest, and red bandana appeared. I turned to see him fly out of the next corridor and lunge at Tank.
However, I’d held my heat-sword in a high guard the moment we entered the station. I was able to swing the blade into an arc that connected with the Roka’s neck. I felt the steel of the blade bite into something soft that offered little resistance.
His torso continued to move, while the head flew in the opposite direction. I watched as the bloody head bounced off the wall. I turned and saw the torso, knife still in hand, fall to the ground. Smoke curling up from the neck stump. I learned in school that the art of swordplay, the discipline of blade work, fell out of favor in ancient cultures, though returned with a vengeance once humanity took to the stars. I for one have always love the dance of blade on blade, and though I'm certainly not the best, my gift for predicting outcomes by instinct certainly make me a better than average swordsman.
The halls and corridors exploded with Roka, and in an instant I was very thankful for that skill set.
In seconds, we were fighting them all over the station. We held together. We fought as a unit. The Roka swarmed over us like a group of predator fish and found us tough prey indeed.
Those of us with bucklers kept them at bay. The longswords chopped down and harvested the limbs and heads of the unprotected Roka. Each of the hostiles carried sharp knives and thin bladed swords, though none had the advanced heat-sword tech we did. I watched the corridors painted red as the Roka continued to attack. There seemed no end to their number.
“On your right!” Tank shouted suddenly. I swung in that direction and sliced into a Roka who’d managed to come in on my blind side. He fell to the floor with a scream, but more came behind him, and in the blink of an eye my buckler rang out with the sound of blades against it.
I watched Tran thrust out and ram his long heat-sword through a Roka who was no more than twenty years old. The young man looked down at the heat-sword, which was imbedded in him. Tran yanked back and the Roka, blood spewing out of his mouth, went down.
There were eight of us and we fought like the hell, in those tight corridors the numerical superiority of the Roka counted for far less that it would have had they attacked us in the repair hangar. Tank kept his men in line and backed up me where I needed him the most. I watched Sherwood, Tank’s loader, bring his longsword down and cleave in the shoulder of an older Roka. The man screamed. He dropped his arm and the knife it held. The floor became slippery with all the blood on it.
It smelled like a commode that backed-up for six days on a hothouse world. Death smells disgusting, and I was never accustomed to it. No one who deals in death could learn to enjoy that smell. It’s the smell of decay and rot. The smell that lets you know someone won’t be coming back.
I slammed my buckler shield into the side of another Roka head, this one with bright eyes and foaming mouth. They were on a battle drug that made them fearless. It also made them foolish and easier to kill. Sometimes the desired effect of a drug comes with unintended side effects.
The Roka backed up in a line. I thought they might be reconsidering their strategy. The line stood across from us and blocked one of the corridors. The second corridor was free of them and we’d already traveled up the third.
“Hostiles pulling back,” I heard Tank transmit to Latasha. “They’re fighting with cold steel, so we have the advantage.”
I started to say something, but the floor began to vibrate. I pulled my guys close and had them get behind Tank’s group. If this was the Horde, it would be over in a hurry.
It wasn’t the Horde.
From behind the corridor the Roka blocked, another mob of Roka swarmed behind the line, howling like demons from hell. Once again, they carried long knives and thin stabbing swords of cold steel.
We were outnumbered before. Even after all the ones we killed who littered the floor beneath us. Now, they swarmed at us, and we had fought near to the point of exhaustion. This did not look good.
“Shit,” Tank mumbled over the audio. I had to agree.
In the back, pushing the mob forward, I spotted one Roka with a whip that drove them. He didn’t have the drool out of his mouth or the crazed pupils. This was their leader, the only one not drugged up with some energized stimulant, maybe it was the Black Mirror everyone had been whispering about.
I had one chance and only one chance to take him out. With an impact gun or a laser, it would be easy. Didn’t have either and to use one in a sealed battle station would kill all of us, should the hull rupture. I cranked my arm back as I set the activator to permanent and sent the heat-sword spinning across the room.
It flew right into the man with the whip’s head, imbedding in his skull. Brain matter flew in the opposite direction. He went down behind his crazed troops. I was feeling pretty good about myself, until the full realization of what I'd done reached my conscious mind. Dammit, I'd been following my instincts blindly again, just like with driving that starfighter into Ardi's field of fire. She'd made an impossible shot, and I'd made an impossible throw.
The Roka still surged forward. So much for instincts.
They were pumped up on the drug and the group mentality had taken over. I reached down for the cold steel dagger that dangled from my belt and prayed we could survive the collision.
A microsecond before the Roka engaged our formation, the Horde swarmed out of the opposite corridor.
I saw a wave of black armor, talismans and heat-swords flow in front of me. I couldn’t hear their battle cries, but I could feel the air vibrate as the sounds rattled their helmets. The Hordesmen slammed into the line of Roka and pushed them back. We watched as the blades flashed crimson in the corridor of the battle station. It was a gruesome and glorious thing to witness. We were saved, but the Horde wouldn’t take prisoners.
This job was left to me.
I watched a Roka militant thrown sidewise and spin on the floor in my direction. Before he could get up, Medoro raised his longsword to chop him in half.
“No!” I yelled at my new loader. “I want this one!” I grabbed the Roka and pulled him up to my level.
It was the work of thirty seconds to get a pair of cuffs on the hands of the struggling fighter. He was so zapped on the drugs, I worried we would never be able to get him back to the ship.
“Got a prisoner,” I spoke to Latasha. “Horde arrived a few seconds ago. They’re cleaning up the mess. Or making it. Seems like it's all kind of the same thing right now.”
I turned to see two Hordesmen slice open a Roka and toss his remains to the ground. Not a single one of the hostiles remained standing.
“Did you find the prisoners?” The Horde leader asked us over the shortwave audio.
“No,” I told him. “We were on our way back there when this bunch appeared.”
“Let’s get them,” he thundered and turned to the corridor. They ran over the bodies, with us behind them. I kept my prisoner secure with one hand. He’d be useful if there was any further trouble.
“Captain says to be sure you bring your prisoner back in one piece,” Latasha spoke to me over the audio. “She’ll be read pissed if we d
on’t get one for interrogation.”
“Tell her not to worry,” I sent back, still dragging the struggling Roka with me.
We found the prisoners intact and half-starved in a cargo hold. They were terrified that the Roka fanatics were back again. Once we told them who we were, they calmed down quite a bit.
“I’m sorry,” a man named Zaos, told me as he devoured the rations we brought along, “We’ve been here two weeks. They came aboard and claimed to be traders with ship problems. The company who owns this thing never staffed it with enough security to do much to stop them. Their ship credentials checked out, so we let them inside. Once the ship was inside the bay, two of them came through the airlock and demanded to see the manager, that’s me. The rest swarmed inside and that’s all I know.”
I could tell they were telling the truth. There were ten men kept imprisoned in that place and none of them had been given enough to eat. The cargo hold was filthy. Captain informed the UDF Navy what happened and asked if they should be transported to the nearest base for examination. The naval contact told her no, but that a supply ship from the company was on the way.
The Hordesmen didn’t find any more Roka and most returned to their mothership. Their blades were red and they were happy.
We swept through the rest of the orbital station without much effort. A few of the Hordesmen did stay behind to help us search it over. There were a few of the Roka left who’d decided not to join in the attack, but most of them had taken the stimulants that ripped them up prior to our appearance. I never did find out why they hadn’t attacked, my guess was that they were part of a fallback plan never executed. They swarmed at us three at time and went down quick. I noted the Hordesmen kept tally of each one they killed by marking the side of their suit armor. Some of them had hundreds of marks. There are many Orders, and no two are the same, so it was still a culture shock to fight side by side with such barbaric warriors, even if we were ostensibly part of the same family tree, despite being from radically different branches.
