by James Evans
Ten attached a micro-filament line to the projectile, took aim and fired. There was a dull whine from the filament spool as the arrow shot across the open space and lodged in a sturdy structure on the roof of the target building. It buried itself in the wall, barbs gripping tightly and the line held firm when Ten gave it a tug.
It was a simple matter to tie the cable to the turret. The reel doubled as a tightening mechanism, drawing the line as taut as a guitar string, albeit a guitar string that could hold the weight of several men. He had to credit the designers of the device. A one-shot railgun purely for use as a grapnel. He’d had to bribe one of the colonists for fabricator time to construct it, but it had been worth the effort. Once the line was secure, parts of the barrel were repurposed to form a clamp to place over the line; then he just had to clip a short strap between the clamp to his harness, like so. And that was it, all from one neat little package that weighed less than a kilo.
Ten stowed the remainder of the device for later reuse then readied his pistol and clipped it to his chest for a quick draw. One last glance around showed no new enemies in the area and a check of the HUD showed lots of action elsewhere. Nobody noticed as he slipped off the ship and down the zip line.
It was a smooth ride, not like the death ride on the traditional Tarzan course. He landed lightly, moving quickly into cover and checking the area for new signs of enemy activity. Nothing. He weighed his options for a moment then dismantled the rest of the device and retrieved the arrow, digging it out of the foamcrete.
Within a couple of minutes, he stood on the edge of the building, leaning back with a length of thin rope ready to drop beside him. One quick tug to check the knots were holding, and then he jumped backwards off the building, dropping fast and swinging expertly back and to the left, toward one of the columns that supported the building. He bent his knees as his boots hit the foamcrete, then pushed off again, hard. This time as he swung back to the building, he was nicely aligned with the anchor point above him, his feet pointing at a window.
Three pistol rounds sent great cracks across the glass and by the time his feet struck the window, it was little more than a formality. He closed his mouth to avoid swallowing shards of glass, trusting the HUD to protect his eyes, and burst into the command centre.
His pistol found and executed two surprised Ruperts as his feet hit the floor. His momentum carried him forward into the room and he charged directly at their planning table, firing as he went.
Then he was over the table in a forward roll, and when he came up on the other side, he had a knife in his free hand.
He slashed the rope and dashed left towards three Ruperts who hadn't yet sought cover. The two on the right got the attention of his pistol and the one to his left lost his head to the swing of the vibro-knife.
Ten slid across the floor and into a crouch behind the end of the table. He slapped the pistol back onto his chest, sheathed the knife and unslung his carbine. The Ruperts were disappointingly slow and only a few light rounds thudded into the surface of the war room table before he had shouldered his rifle and returned fire.
He ducked again, listing for movement. Silence. Really?
Ten risked another glance, popping his head above the table to look around the room, but there really was no movement. He crept from cover, carbine ready, and checked the room, counting the bodies into his HUD to keep Lieutenant Warden happy. Nine dead Ruperts, no, wait, some movement in the corner. The carbine spat two more bursts and then there were twelve dead Ruperts, including the one who had been sheltering under a colleague as he tried to crawl away.
Ten sighed and looked around. He cocked his head in surprise. There was a metal tray in the middle of the table, with three intact glasses still on it. He leaned close, eyeing them suspiciously but no, there was no glass in the clear liquid. He drank each one in quick succession, just to be sure. Nope, no blood in his mouth, so no glass in the booze. Good to know. The bottle had been smashed onto the floor though. Pity. He would have expected the Deathless Ruperts to have had a bigger stash.
He sighed and crossed to the window nearest the gatehouse. Raising his carbine to his shoulder, he peered through the telescopic sight, his HUD automatically switching mode as he scanned the area. Deathless soldiers were emerging from the prefabricated buildings, shining lights on the overturned dump truck, looking for an enemy. Eighteen at least, and maybe a couple of heat signatures nearby were light clones crouching behind cover. Either way, it looked like now was the time.
“Blow it, Goodwin,” he requested, ducking down behind the wall.
“Roger that, fingers in your ears,” Goodwin replied.
The truck detonated just as one of the unfortunate troopers drew close enough to touch the door of the cab, looking for the driver. An enormous explosion bloomed under the hopper, lifting it clear into the air before it ruptured. Huge chunks of metal flew outward as the fireball unfurled like a giant rose, sending lumps of shrapnel the size of desks tumbling through buildings and into the night. The safety glass in the windows above Ten, and in all the windows nearby, blew inward, covering the room in neat chunks. The enemy that had surrounded the vehicle were vapourised, as was every building for tens of metres, crumpled by the shockwave and scattered across the rest of the base.
Ten stood up to check the effects, nodding in satisfaction.
“Good job, Goodwin, that gave them a headache.”
“Thanks, Ten. Happy hunting.”
“Likewise.”
Ten took one last look around the room then grinned as he spotted the liquor cabinet.
17
By the time Warden reached the base of the wall, Milton had already started on the breaching plan. He pulled his rebreather over his mouth and nostrils to filter out the cloud of dust that billowed out from the wall. He pinged Milton via the HUD as he unslung a cumbersome tool from his webbing; he didn’t want to startle someone operating a mining laser.
Milton flicked off her laser and stepped back from the cutting face.
“Where do you want me?” Warden asked.
“Saved you a spot in the front rank, Sir,” she said, pointing at the spot she had just vacated, “have you used one of these before?”
“No, this will be a first, Sergeant.”
“It’s easy enough, Sir. That button is the dead man’s handle, keep it pressed, and that one fires the laser. It’s invisible but there’s a red targeting lamp to help with the aiming.”
“Ok, seems easy enough,” muttered Warden, horribly aware that it was bound to be much more complicated than Milton had suggested.
The Marines were arranged in two ranks, one kneeling, one standing. They’d already excavated a sizeable hole through the rock, wide enough for two men abreast but not tall. They were cutting well below the wall because the rock was easier to get through than the foamcrete; there were scorch marks on the foamcrete above the tunnel, remnants of some aborted efforts to dig through the wall itself.
“Cease cutting,” Milton ordered and the beams shut off. Warden took his place, crouching in the front line with Milton behind. The tunnel angled down and, as the dust cleared, Warden saw they were about halfway done. At Milton’s order, the cutting resumed. Two minutes later, the first part of the work was complete, and everybody shuffled out of the tunnel.
Every metre or so, two Marines sprayed the floor, ceiling and walls of the tunnel with a layer of foam. It reacted quickly to the thin air and set hard in seconds, forming a skin that shored up the walls. The colony’s engineers had assured them that this stuff was heat resistant and designed for exactly this purpose.
Now the teams reorganised so that a few Marines could get into the tunnel and begin cutting forward. A few metres of horizontal cutting, then they would swap teams again and begin cutting upward. Denmead’s engineers had offered copious amounts of advice and the plan seemed sound but Warden still had some doubts.
Warden, no longer at the cutting face, put down his laser and checked the clock on his H
UD. It was a bit tight but they were on schedule. In the hole, the teams swapped around again, Marines crowding into the tunnel to get as many lasers on the target as they could.
Then there was a long rumbling bang that shook the floor and caused everyone to stop cutting. When nothing further happened, Milton waved them on and the work resumed.
“That was our distraction coming home,” said Warden as Milton joined him near the entrance of the tunnel, “but the scans are still showing no enemy troops anywhere near here. It looks like Marine X is drawing their attention.”
Milton nodded, setting down her exhausted laser.
“Bailey, anything I need to know about?” asked Warden.
“All quiet on the western front, Sir. You’re good to go.”
“Goodwin, I’m hearing a lot of gunfire but nothing bigger. What’s the story?”
“Ten asked me to standby, Sir.”
“He got off it safely then?”
“Seems to have, though I’ve no idea how he did it.”
“Roger that, as soon as you blow it, get a drone up and send us some updates.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Warden glanced upward at the spikes again, then back at Fletcher, Campbell and the others.
“Corporal Campbell, we’re all clear here, no sign of the enemy. Get over here as quick as you can.”
“Roger. On our way, Sir.”
“Milton, how’s it coming along?”
“We’re almost up and under the wall, Sir. Two minutes, at a guess.”
Warden nodded, “Good. Everyone who is not manning a laser, stay sharp. I don’t want them catching us with our pants down.”
He crouched down at the end of the tunnel to see how it was coming along. The incline was going upward again and should emerge a metre or so the other side of the wall. They were fortunate that the huge wall had been set directly on the rock and was held in place only by its own huge weight. The production speed of the Deathless war machine was impressive but nobody built foundations they didn’t need.
Corporal Campbell arrived with the four from her Section that had been redeployed in Deathless Lizardmen clones. Fletcher was with them, seconded from Section 1 as she too was in a Deathless clone, an Ogre with full power armour. The rest of Sections 1 and 2, who were still wearing standard Marine clones, would work together; mixing power-armoured Marines with colleagues wearing basic bullet-resistant gear was not operationally efficient.
Likewise, the remainder of Section 2 who had survived without being redeployed in Deathless clone bodies, had been seconded to Section 1 under the command of Corporal Drummond. That left Campbell free for frontal assaults, where power armour really came into its own.
Warden was curious to see how they would handle the armour. He’d checked the personnel records, and none of the Marines had seen serious combat in power armour, though all were trained in its use. It just wasn’t necessary for most situations, so it really only came out when the environment itself was hostile. Only a handful of the Marines, mostly the NCO’s and a few of the older officers, had any real experience in power armour; Warden had never used it in combat.
Very often, the combat power armour onboard ships-of-the-line would be pristine, some even retaining the manufacturer’s plastic film that protected the paint job. The suits that showed signs of wear and tear would invariably be the loading suits, similar to Fletcher’s Ogre model, and the repair suits used for spacewalks, both specialised models that weren’t intended for use in combat. Not that being slapped around with a loader was going to be any fun for a boarding party, though.
“We’re through, Sir,” Milton said, interrupting Warden’s musing. The teams swapped places and more of the rapid setting epoxy was sprayed into the tunnel, then they were ready to go.
“Campbell, head through and establish a beachhead,” Warden ordered, “Fletcher, you might have to wait until we can get a line down to you from the top of the wall.
The massive hulk of the Ogre wasn’t going to fit through the tunnel and this plan might go badly wrong if she got wedged between the narrow walls.
“I have some modes I haven’t tried yet, Sir. I think I might be able to scale the wall. Permission to test while I wait?”
Warden shrugged, “Granted. If you can find a way to get up there without making a racket, go right ahead. Not that I think anyone will be paying attention to us after whatever Marine X has been doing.” As he spoke there was an enormous explosion, and every one of them took cover in alarm, some retaining more dignity than others. A rain of debris clattered from the sky, tiny fragments of metal and rock spattering the wall and the rooves of the buildings on the other side.
“Fuck me!” blurted Warden, “Goodwin, report!”
“Detonation successful, Lieutenant. Ten’s data suggests at least sixteen enemy casualties. My drone is away and I’ll have updates for you shortly,” Goodwin replied.
“Beachhead secure, Lieutenant,” came Corporal Campbell's voice over the HUD, “No sign of the enemy. The mothership is ready and waiting.”
“Acknowledged,” Warden said, looking at Milton and gesturing for her to get the rest of the troop through the tunnel.
Fletcher moved to the base of the well, just to the left of the tunnel. The Ogre power armour was bright yellow, the sort of paint job you might expect to see on a racing flyer rather than a suit of armour. Warden preferred a spot of camouflage, even if it wasn’t perfect and the enemy would likely have tools that saw beyond the visual spectrum, but not everyone was using a HUD all the time. The mark one eyeball was still good for most occasions and in his book, that meant camouflage was a must.
“Switched-mode now, Sir,” said Fletcher, flexing her fingers, “Don’t think I’ve set it to self-destruct.”
“Very funny, Fletcher, I can’t wait for your appearance at the next CSE show.”
As he watched, huge spikey blades sprang forth from Fletcher’s shoulders, and forearms and the gauntlets sprouted claws of shining metal. She flexed them, and they curled menacingly as she twisted her head and arms, looking up at the blades protruding from her shoulders and across the back of her forearms.
Warden walked over to her as she stepped up to the wall and brought her hand down against the foamcrete. The claws punctured it easily, and the spikes at the tips of her boots did likewise. Before Warden could get close enough for a better look, Fletcher had begun to make her way up the surface of the fortification as easily as if it were a beginners’ climbing wall in a gymnasium. She paused halfway up, looking around.
“This is pretty neat, Sir. It’s some kind of melee combat mode, but it was also tagged for climbing assaults. These claws get into the wall like its made of dough.”
“Excellent. Get up there, hunker down, and keep an eye on things until we’re ready for you to join us, ok?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Warden spared a glance back toward Bailey and the snipers, then followed his command through the tunnel, coming up on the other side, rifle at the ready. He crouched low, sidling quickly to the left until he was behind the cover of a storage crate.
His HUD led him to Milton and the rest of the team. Corporal Campbell and her team, Fletcher excepted, were clustered near the front, behind one of the many prefabricated units in the base compound. On this side of the base, the mothership was obscured by piles of storage containers that covered much of the ground inside the wall. An icon on Warden’s HUD showed the drone Goodwin had launched was aloft and transmitting data, and he switched to an aerial view of the compound.
The icon marking Ten’s position strobed slowly in a building on the other side of the mothership. A large sheet of cloth fluttered in the breeze; the lines snagged on a protrusion from the mothership. The whole area between the gate and the mothership looked like a year-old active war zone, but no, just one truck and one Commando were responsible. He shook his head in disbelief; he had asked for a distraction, but this was on another scale entirely.
Switching back to a low
light view from his HUD, he made his way quickly to Milton’s position, catching up with her as she advanced toward the hull of the mothership. They were at the rear of the ship, near the main engines.
“Right you four, stow your weapons and pick up those crates, get them shifted,” Milton ordered as Warden arrived, “I want a wall to give us cover while we work. With all the chaos out there, they might not even notice us.”
Warden immediately understood her plan. She had identified an entry point and was using the crates like a set of giant children’s building blocks, stacking them to shield the Marines while they worked. He checked the disposition of his team and sent Campbell and her command to help. Augmented by their power armour, they were able to move some of the larger, sturdier crates that littered the base. He mucked in too, and soon they had their own sturdy emplacement, part firing post, part fort.
Then they broke out the mining lasers and got to work on the hull, cutting into it on maximum settings while everyone else hunkered down to wait.
A few minutes later, another round of noise broke out from the other side of the base. Ten, probably, providing more distraction. Warden waited, checking the drones’ view and making sure updates had been made to the HUD now that a live map of the base was available. Buildings that probably contained living troops were highlighted, identified by the drone or flagged by Marine X.
“Sir,” Milton whispered urgently, trying to get his attention.
“Yes?” he asked, turning his head toward the breaching team and groaning inwardly as he took the scene in.
“The lasers are kaput,” she said with an apologetic shrug.
There was a hole in the side of the ship but they hadn’t breached the inner hull and it wasn’t big enough for access. The ship was probably still spaceworthy.
