by James Evans
29
Warden had made them follow a roundabout path, purposefully guiding the convoy through a dust storm to conceal their route and prevent the Deathless from following them as they returned to Fort Widley. It had added hours to their journey, but Warden had thought it better to be cautious – they had already pushed their luck a long, long way.
Ten had found two Deathless APCs in a garage at the southern end of the Deathless base. They had, like the rest of the enemy’s kit, turned out to be robust and well-suited to their purpose. They were also gigantic, with eight wheels and space for a whole platoon, support personnel, powered armour and heavy weapons.
Warden had crammed them full of kit pilfered from the enemy mothership then rifled through the rest of the garage and taken all the light patrol trucks they could find. They'd even found an ambulance, which Milton had insisted that they take.
When they finally reached Fort Widley and drove into the huge cavern that acted as the main garage, they found Captain Atticus and a company of the newly minted Militia of Bristol waiting for them.
“Just wanted to be sure, Lieutenant,” said Atticus as he led Warden, Milton and Marine X to the command room.
“Er, have you changed, sir?” asked Warden, frowning at Captain Atticus as they walked. “You seem different, somehow.”
“New clone, Lieutenant,” said Atticus airily, as if being killed and redeployed were hardly worth mentioning. “You’re not the only one who’s seen a bit of action over the last twenty-four hours.”
Warden nodded, eyebrows raised, but before he could ask more questions, the party reached the command room. Someone had rigged a load more monitors, and they were showing live images of the Deathless base, a direct feed from the small swarm of micro-drones the techs had left behind.
“There’s incoming,” said Johnson, Governor Denmead’s aide, who had been watching the enemy ship as it entered orbit. “Two dropships, we think, heading for the base and due to land in a few minutes.”
Ten grinned, playing with a remote control, almost bursting with excitement.
“You were successful, Lieutenant?” asked Governor Denmead, although the very presence of the Marines pretty much answered the question.
“Mostly, ma’am, although we took casualties at the quarry, I’m sorry to say.”
Atticus nodded grimly as Warden ran through the pertinent events.
“We can talk about that later, Tom,” said Atticus, “your casualties are already being redeployed. I’m not sure what more you could have done.”
“Dropships approaching the base,” said Johnson, leaning forward in his seat. The others peered at the monitors until, suddenly, three black shapes appeared as if by magic in the micro-drones’ fields of view.
“Two dropships, Johnson?” asked Denmead, eyebrow raised.
“Or maybe three, Governor,” conceded Johnson, “the resolution isn’t all that good on the near-space sensors.”
“You brought back two Deathless APCs, Lieutenant. Anything else?” asked Atticus as the dropships slowed as they neared the base.
“Small arms, munitions, armour, vehicles. No game changers, I’m afraid, but plenty of useful kit. We do have some potential intelligence finds that might be worth looking at if we can spare someone.”
“And we left them a couple of surprises, sir,” said Ten, still playing with his remote trigger.
“Hmm,” said Atticus, eyeing him suspiciously. He turned to the techs. “Can we zoom in on the dropships? I want to see what happens when they land.”
Robinson flicked at the controls, and the monitors switched to showing larger views of the three dropships as they closed in on the base.
“They’ll be down in about thirty seconds,” said Robinson, “they’re well below the micro-drones now.”
The room was silent as the dropships completed their descent, coming to rest inside the base, all neatly lined up. The ramps dropped, and scores of Deathless disembarked, dashing clear of their transports as if afraid they might be toxic.
“Looks like they’ve got the hang of rapid deployment,” said Ten, grudging respect heavy in his voice, “but they’re a few hours too late to do any good.”
“Zoom in there,” said Atticus, pointing at a clump of figures that were clearly inspecting the damage to the mothership. The view jumped down, not far enough to read facial expressions but far enough to show body language. “They don’t look too happy, do they?” asked Atticus rhetorically as the clones, clearly officers, wandered around the base inside their protective cordon of troops. One, high-ranking maybe, kept pointing at things, sending his troops scurrying hither and thither.
Then he turned to face the mothership and gestured angrily. A squad of the rank and file lizardmen clones disappeared into the giant ship, and most of the officers followed a few seconds later. The ones left outside, maybe feeling a little exposed and unwilling to take more risks than were strictly necessary, hunkered down at the edge of the spaceship and pulled their cordon of troops a little more tightly around them.
“Like a child with a comfort blanket,” muttered Warden.
“And about as dangerous,” murmured Ten, so quiet that only Milton heard. She shot him a look, and he grinned expansively, all teeth.
“I think that’s about as good as it’s likely to get, Lieutenant,” said Atticus.
“Very good, sir. Let’s pull the view back a little so we can see the whole base again.” He paused while the techs adjusted the view. “And Happy Christmas!” He activated an icon on his HUD. There was a pause, a few heartbeats only, but long enough that Warden wondered if it had worked.
Then the mothership was rocked by a series of explosions, in several locations near the engines and around the hull. Bright flashes could be seen through viewing ports around the ship. A huge gout of flame shot out from the open boarding ramp, hurling debris into the back of the troops waiting nearby. A lone figure stumbled out of the ship, raised its hand as if to signal for help then collapsed.
There was a muted murmur of appreciation from the people in the command centre.
“Well done, Lieutenant,” said Atticus, nodding to Warden.
The troops who had set themselves up behind the convenient arc of cover in front of the boarding ramp began to stand and turn towards the ship.
“One second, sir,” said Warden, activating another icon in his HUD. Explosives, concealed in the conveniently positioned crates that the Deathless had been using as cover, detonated, scything down the troops nearest the ship.
"Even better," said Denmead to general agreement.
“If I may, sir?” said Ten, waggling his own trigger.
“Very well, Marine X,” said Warden, “but walk us through it, first, will you?”
“Of course, sir,” said Ten, laying his hand on the tech’s shoulder, “just zoom in there on that bit, the square building. That’s an armoury, sunk about a metre into the rock. Nice little job, very tidy. They even put a good, solid roof on it so that you can’t drop any nasty surprises in from above. As you can see, it’s a beautiful location, with pleasant views across the landing zone and handily located near the front gate. A mid-sized property that clearly owes its design to the Brutalist movement of the mid-twentieth century.”
Warden cleared his throat.
“Right, yes, sorry,” said Ten, “turns out they store plastic explosive in big boxes, just like the ones we use. All you need is a handful of detonators and a remote control,” he said, pressing the button on the trigger, “and it’s bonfire night all over again.”
“Are you sure, Marine X?” said Warden as the video feed repeatedly showed nothing of interest.
“Little warm-up first, sir,” said Ten, “about now...”
Part of the southern wall of the armoury blew out, scattering foamcrete across the base.
“Now we build a little,” muttered Ten, waving his hands like a conductor as more explosions tore at the wall of the armoury, “leaving the rear and side walls intact so t
hat the finale is extra special.”
More explosions rocked the building, and then there was a colossal blast that shattered much of the roof and blew out the southern wall completely. For a moment the feed was disrupted as the drone rode the blast wave, camera pointing erratically at the sky. Then everything settled, and the drone returned to station.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Warden quietly, unconsciously leaning forward to get a better view.
The southern wall of the armoury had gone, blown to smithereens, and the roof had collapsed. The other three walls mostly stood intact but the area south of the armoury and two of the dropships had been less fortunate.
“It’s all about shaping the blast,” said Ten, enjoying his moment in the spotlight. “You just have to direct it to where it’ll do the most good. A bit of plastic on the south wall to weaken it, then when the main charge goes off, attached to some other munitions for added ‘oomph’ of course, the blast heads south through the damaged wall, et voila! Maximum damage, minimum effort. A whole urban zone, ready for gentrification and completely cleared of infestation by unwanted parasites.”
The command centre was quiet as everyone inspected the feed. A triangle of buildings extending from the armoury out across the base and past the dropships had been flattened. Most of the hastily erected buildings weren't all that resilient, with a few notable exceptions such as the wall and the armouries. One of the dropships had been flipped end over and was now resting upside down in a large pile of rubble, all that remained of a cluster of buildings.
A second dropship had been punched to one side and split almost in half by the blast. Useful for spare parts, maybe, but its flying days were over.
“Thank you, Marine X,” said Warden weakly, still trying to understand the sheer quantity of damage done to the base. “I think that’ll be all for now.”
“Of course, sir, and thanks. I think this means I’ve won my bet with Sergeant Milton. She’ll be chuffed.” Ten saluted and left, sauntering out of the command room like he owned the place.
Nobody said anything for a few moments.
“Well,” said Atticus brightly, “I would say that the enemy’s operational capabilities with respect to this base had been severely, if not fatally, impaired.” There was a murmured chorus of agreement. “The next step is to deny the enemy the ability to land fresh troops or to establish a new base. Or repair this one,” said the captain, “although I think that’s likely to be tricky.”
“And how do we do that, Captain?” asked Governor Denmead, although she already had a pretty good idea of the answer.
“Vice Admiral Staines is only a few hours away. By this evening, we’ll have as much strength as we’re ever likely to get. The time for half-measures is over.”
“Half-measures?” muttered Johnson, slightly surprised.
“Our next move is a direct assault on the three ships of the Deathless fleet,” continued Atticus, ignoring Johnson completely. “Vice Admiral Staines doesn't have the ships to guarantee victory in a fair fight so we won’t be offering one. Instead, the Marines of A and B Troops will take the dropships and rendezvous with Staines aboard HMS Iron Duke. We'll bolster their numbers with volunteers from the militia. The ideal outcome is the capture of all three ships, rather than their outright destruction, but they'll be scuttled if necessary.”
Governor Denmead frowned and looked distinctly disturbed.
“You want to include the militia in this? Isn’t that a bit, well, risky? They don't have any training or experience in boarding ships. They're not well-trained professionals.”
“True, but neither, it seems, are the Deathless,” said Atticus, “so extra bodies might make a significant difference. We’ll be using boarding pods, the Marines will lead, and we’ll only take volunteers. This isn’t an operation for the unwilling.”
“It still sounds very risky,” said Denmead doubtfully.
“And it is, Governor, it is,” said Captain Atticus, “but I really don’t think we have any alternatives.”
30
The trip into orbit to dock with HMS Iron Duke was gruelling, to say the least. Goodwin punched the dropship through the atmosphere at the upper limit of the Marines’ tolerance to acceleration. Several, all wearing the standard issue clones, blacked out and didn’t come round until they were in free-fall.
The G-force was brutal because it was, in Goodwin’s words, “Better to burn out than be blown to smithereens by a Deathless warship as we leave the atmosphere.” Warden didn’t think that had quite the rhythm she was going for, but he couldn’t fault her logic.
Vice Admiral Staines was similarly cautious. After deploying scores of drones to monitor the enemy, Staines’s fleet, if you could call it that, had stayed firmly on the opposite side of the planet, well away from the Deathless ships. The enemy had made no move to engage, yet, but best practice called for launches to be done in the fastest manner possible to minimise the chances of a vital ship being destroyed by the enemy.
And it was the ships that were important in this situation. Losing the Marines would be inconvenient, but they could be replaced in Iron Duke’s clone bays. Dropships, command shuttles and cargo landers were much harder to build and took a lot longer to make than a new clone. Losing a ship might be disastrous.
Warden and A Troop had no choice but to endure a punishing ascent into the heavens. At least the troop was back to a full complement of Marines, and with some upgrades to boot. Corporal Green, Lance Corporal Long and Marines McGee, Headley and Scott had all been redeployed in newly captured ogre clones and had been issued the hideously bright yellow power armour to go with them. Each carried a huge combat shotgun, courtesy of the raid on the Deathless mothership base.
The approach to Vice Admiral Staines’s flagship had got a lot more comfortable once the dropships had reached orbit. In the deathly quiet of space, the dropships manoeuvred gently, closing slowly on the frigate. Then a series of interlocking doors opened to allow them access. Arms reached out from the deck to grab the dropships and pull them down, then the outer door closed and the bay repressurised, gouts of atmosphere filling the space.
Finally, the inner doors opened, and the deck slid into the operations bay beyond the airlock, which closed behind them. The elaborate procedure allowed the operations bay to function while the airlocks were cycling ships into, or out of, the frigate. Once the atmosphere pressurised, the engineering crews could move around the bay without wearing suits.
Fighter tubes worked the same way; each flyer sat on an electric sled during maintenance and rearming. The pilot would climb into the cockpit, the fighter would be driven into a launch tube then the airlock shut behind them and a low-energy railgun mechanism would accelerate them away from the parent ship.
The moment the dropship stopped moving, Warden unbuckled his harness and stood up, rolling his neck. He felt like he’d been hit by a stampede but this was no time for luxuries like a quiet moment to himself.
“Let’s go,” he said, clapping his hands. “I want everyone ready for action inside an hour, so make sure your gear is in order and resupply from Iron Duke’s quartermaster if you need to. Milton, you’re with me, we’re wanted in Vice Admiral Staines’s war room.”
“You’ve all seen the plan,” said Staines, “so what’s the consensus, ladies and gentlemen? Can it be done?”
“I can’t comment on the orbital mechanics, sir, but the boarding action looks solid, so yes, I think we can make it work,” said Warden.
Vice Admiral Staines looked at Lieutenant Hayes, who nodded. “I agree with Warden, sir. We can get it done.”
“Midshipman Carruthers?” he asked the junior officer who would be running the boarding team from HMS Iron Duke.
“We’re ready to go, sir. The schedule leaves no room for error, and it’ll be uncomfortable for the crew but, mechanically, it’s doable.”
“And you, Sergeant Adams? Is your team ready?”
Adams held his hand up. “I’m not really a sergeant. I l
ook after water filtration for the hydroponic systems; I’m not qualified for this. We’ve brought the best of our people, and we’ve all fought against the Deathless, but we’re not soldiers. We’ll go wherever you need us, but I’m not going to pretend I can contribute to this discussion.”
“I’ve seen the reports from Lieutenant Hayes,” said Staines, “and I think you’ve earned the rank. You’ve seen more real combat than many of the people under my command. You may not have the training, but you’re battle-tested in a way that can’t be accomplished in any simulation, and you’ve earned my respect. I’m sure you have the respect of everyone here.”
Blushing profusely, Adams said, “Thank you, Vice Admiral Staines, you can rely on us, we won’t let you down.”
“Very good. Then I suggest you all get back to your teams and get kitted out. There’s no time to train your people on power armour, Sergeant Adams, but we do have plenty of standard body armour you can use. As your role is to defend the breaches, it won’t matter if your mobility is a little restricted.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m sure we’ll cope. We haven’t had much body armour in Ashton, so that sounds bloody luxurious.”
“Warden, Hayes, we do have power armour for your teams. We’re primarily charged with exploration and survey duties, but the quartermaster keeps our supplies of armaments and armour at combat readiness. As such, we have plenty of spares in the event we need to deploy Marines. Unfortunately, the Nelson class doesn’t have the fastest cloning pods, so there isn’t time to deploy more of your colleagues for this action.”
“Quite all right, sir. We’re getting used to making do. Having power armour is a massive step up from our previous position.”
“Good,” said Staines, checking the time, “then let’s get to work. I want you ready for boarding pod launch in no more than forty-five minutes. Dismissed.”
