Not With A Whimper: Destroyers

by D. A. Boulter

  “Docking in one minute,” Nakamura announced. “We’re going zero-g. Station gravity will come on shortly. Hold on to your stomach contents.”

  And then they had docked. The hatch opened, and Jensen came face-to-face with a security man, big, tough-looking. He held a weapon almost pointed at him.

  “I’m a friend,” Jensen said, respecting both the man and his caution. “I have forty soldiers, most of them armed with something – mostly pistols and needlers – ready to go.”

  The big man extended a hand. “Hank Lowe, Master-at-arms,” the man said.

  “Sergeant Frank Jensen. Ken Nakamura gave us a briefing, showed us the deck-plan and where the hostiles are thought to be. We’re ready.”

  Lowe smiled. “Great. Follow me.”

  “One thing first.”

  Lowe regarded him with slightly narrowed eyes.

  “I have two scientists on board. I want them kept safe. Also, we have important equipment in the hold. Get it somewhere safe, too.”

  “I can vouch for that,” Nakamura said as he joined them. “I’ll take Ms Burnett and Mr Grant with me to … where?”

  “Jaswinder’s in the command centre. It’s safe, so far.”

  “Good.” Nakamura motioned to Christine and Grant. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait.” Christine had her own ideas about that.

  “No deal, Christine,” Jensen said. He’d not let her get killed in a firefight. “You’re not trained for this sort of thing. You’ll likely get some of us killed.” He held up his hand to forestall her objection. “That training,” he said, referring to the sleep-learning he’d put her through, “would help you as an agent, not a soldier. Remember, Westorn devised it for already trained personnel. Go with Ken. Wait for me.”

  To his surprise, she acquiesced. But then she ran to him, threw her arms around him, and kissed him on the mouth. “I still want to give you a chance,” she said. She handed her pistol to one of the unarmed soldiers.

  “And I want it. I’ll come to you if at all possible.”

  He turned back to his people.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready,” came the reply from thirty-nine throats. He smiled.

  “Then let’s go finish this for once and for all. Dibs on Westorn.”

  That got him laughs, and he knew that not one of them would allow him that pleasure if he or she could help it. They all wanted it for themselves.

  “Lead on, Mr Lowe.”

  Earth no longer could support them – probably billions had already died or lay dying. This, this unfinished globe floating in space had become home. And they would fight for their home with everything in them, to their last breath if necessary, that the rest could find peace.

  Westorn didn’t have a chance, Jensen thought. In the end, he couldn’t win. A people fighting for their home would win every time. He only hoped he could get back to Christine. But if he couldn’t, he’d ensure that she had a life left to live, be it on Haida Gwaii, one of the Family ships, or a colony world.

  Christine Burnett would live, so he swore to any gods that might be listening.

  He turned to his troops as Hank Lowe led off.

  “Follow me.” He hurried to walk by Lowe’s side. “They wearing armour?”

  “Yep. Damn hard to take out. And we have nothing to compare. I don’t suppose that you brought any.”

  Jensen shook his head. “He must have had some for us – he intended that we join him – but we didn’t find it. Didn’t find the weapons, either. All we have is what we took off those we killed – who intended to kill us. But it’s not combat armour like Westorn’s troops’ll be wearing. We have a few assault rifles,” he held up his own, taken from one of Roger’s men, “but mostly pistols and needlers.”

  “Well, we can help with that. We had a visitor who suggested this might happen, that we wouldn’t have another chance to get supplies from Earth, so we picked up everything we thought we might need for the foreseeable future.”

  Jensen gave him a sideways glance. “You have assault rifles?”

  “What?” Lowe gave him a look that suggested the man might think him mad. “No, heavens, no. We picked up hunting rifles, mostly. But we have more than enough to outfit you and your men – ammunition, too.

  “When we began, we loaded stuff onto Family ships and got it out of system as quick as we could, but Haida Gwaii, now, she’ll hold more than a hundred ships could. So we got a lot of it.”

  Lowe walked at a fast pace, and Jensen had to stretch his legs to keep up. His men marched behind them in double file. They rounded a corner, took stairs at double time, and exited two levels up.

  “We’ve had a hell of a time keeping them bottled. Lost lots of good people – would have lost more if not for your warning – thanks. In here.”

  Lowe led them into a large conference room. Tables formed a large circle. On the tables lay rifles, each with two boxes of ammunition. Beside them lay a belt with canteen and pouch attached.

  Three station personnel waited.

  “Water and rations?” Jensen asked.

  A short woman replied, “This might take a while. Thought you might get thirsty or hungry. Sorry, we have no helmets or armour for you.”

  “We’ll take what we can get.” Jensen buckled on his belt, and his men and women went to their own stations at the table, doing the same thing.

  He emptied the two boxes of cartridges into an empty compartment in the pouch. The rifle felt good in his hands. He checked it out. Excellent quality. The magazine held only five cartridges, and someone had filled it. He carried it with him, for the assault rifle had only one spare magazine. After he used those, he’d have nothing left.

  “Everyone ready?” Jensen called out.

  A chorus of affirmatives answered him. He nodded. He wished he had time to sight in the weapon, but worried that Lowe’s men might break. Westorn’s troops – perhaps as many as eighty – would come boiling out of their confinement, and might do untold damage to the station and its people should that happen.

  “Let’s go!”

  Lowe led them out at a fast walk. Smart man. No need to get all out of breath before going into a situation like this.

  “Remember,” Jensen called out. “They have armour that will stop these bullets. Aim for hands, feet, faces. And a bullet in the arm – even if it doesn’t penetrate the armour – is going to sting like hell – maybe put the person out of action for a time. A bullet in the hand or foot will likely break bones.”

  But they didn’t want them out of action, they wanted Westorn and his troops dead. He didn’t have to call out ‘no prisoners’, for every one of them knew what could happen should a fanatic get loose. It would soon get very bloody.

  “We have them contained, limited to a landing bay and a few surrounding halls,” Lowe told him.

  “You could pump the air out – make it a lot easier on us.”

  Lowe laughed. “Good thought. Unfortunately, we’d kill several hundred of our own people should we do that. They’re forted up, safe for the moment, but we’ll have to fight our way in to free them. They’d have to fight their way past your colonel to get to us.”

  Jensen saw the outrage in the older man, and understood his feelings all too well. He nodded, but said, “You may have to do it, anyway. Better a few hundred than the whole station.”

  Lowe regarded him with equanimity. “Might do. But we give them their chance.”

  “We give them their chance,” Jensen agreed. “Besides, some of us have personal scores to settle, and we’d like to settle them personally.”

  Three men waited for them at the end of the passageway.

  “We’ll want you to divide up, here. I’ll take one group; Pelly, Smith, and Hong, here, will take the others to where you’re needed.”

  “You heard the man,” Jensen said.

  Jensen and nine of his troops followed Lowe. They moved more slowly now. Finally, Lowe came to a stop.

  “We’ve got men just around the nex
t corner. They’re keeping your friends back.”

  An explosion had everyone dropping to the deck. Lowe winced. Jensen pulled a small steel mirror out of his breast pocket and looked around the corner. He pulled it back in.

  “You don’t have men there any longer.” Extending the mirror again, he watched another few moments “They’re coming. Ready? Now!”

  He and Sam Innis rolled into the corridor, took aim, and fired twice each. Then Jensen rolled back, while Innis rolled the other way. A scream came from down the hall, a scream quickly squelched. A burst of automatic fire peppered the place where he and Innis had lain.

  “At least one down and at least one wounded,” Jensen reported grimly. “I got one in the face. He’s dead.”

  He pulled out his pistol, shoved his hand out and fired off four shots without looking, and then pulled his hand back in just before another shower of bullets whipped down the hall.

  Jensen looked up to the air ducts above. “Anyone able to get through those?”

  “Unlikely.”

  “Well, then, I guess this is as good a time as any to eat.” He reached in the pouch and pulled out a meal-replacement bar.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ANTON FIGHTER-1

  Tuesday, August 31st

  The station loomed ever larger in their screens, and Major Müller opened the shields so that those in the cockpit could see out with their own eyes, and not those of the cameras.

  “Wow,” Kelner said. “That’s big.”

  “Docking instructions coming in,” Tessler reported. “Shunting to you.”

  He heard the instructions and aligned his ship as the station requested, turned down his detectors to minimum power, and then turned over docking to Haida Gwaii’s computer.

  “I guess they want to be sure of us, even though we’ve complied with their every request,” Baumeister said.

  * * *

  HAIDA GWAII

  Desultory fire from both sides kept them from going to sleep. However, neither Westorn’s troops nor their own could gain a decisive advantage.

  “Sergeant Jensen?”

  Jensen turned to see one of the civilians they had reinforced gesturing him away from the area taking fire.

  “Yes?”

  “We need you and a few of your men to return to the landing docks. We have possible reinforcements from European Treaty Organization fighter-shuttles coming in. On the other hand, Lowe fears that they may be a second prong of your Colonel Westorn’s attack. We’re taking a few of your soldiers from each of the groups.”

  A second prong from the ETO seemed unlikely, but he couldn’t fault Lowe for taking no chances.

  “Innis, Macintosh, come with me.”

  At the docking bay, they picked out cover with good fields of fire. Along with the twelve of them, Lowe had brought in ten civilians. They looked grim – as well they might.

  “The shuttles will come in and dock there,” Lowe pointed to an area not far from them in the huge room. Their own shuttle had disappeared. The Families must have taken it somewhere.

  “Won’t you have to evacuate the air? I don’t think I’ll much like being in here when you do that.”

  Lowe grinned. “I can appreciate that.”

  He gave a signal, and a huge door rolled down cutting off the docking area from the rest of the bay. High-capacity, high-pressure pumps began sucking the air from the area.

  “That’s safe, right?” Jensen asked, looking at the barrier between them and vacuum.

  “We’ve been using doors like that for a hundred years. They hardly ever fail.” That didn’t reassure Jensen or his team much, but Lowe grinned. “I’m here, aren’t I? Take your places; it won’t be long. You know what to do if the Germans aren’t friendly.”

  And sooner than he would have believed, the door rose again, to show five sleek shuttles waiting for them. The hatch on one shuttle opened and a stream of men and women filed out to meet Lowe who had advanced on them. Jensen sighted in on the leader. If anything went wrong, he wouldn’t live more than a few seconds after he gave any order.

  But nothing went wrong, and Lowe called them out.

  Seeing the chance to use the German that Dr Burnett had taught him in the sleep-learning sessions back in Denver, Jensen nodded to the Major who seemed in charge.

  “Guten Tag, Herr Major. Willkomen zum Haida Gwaii.”

  The man looked surprised to hear his own tongue, but replied, “Guten Tag,” before returning to English.

  * * *

  ANTON FIGHTER-1

  Müller turned the InShip on. “We’re almost docked. Get ready for gravity. And listen well: they may remain unsure of us, think that perhaps we’ve come to join those attacking the station. Thus, they may have armed guards ready to meet us. Those of you with weapons, do not go out with them in your hands. Go out in an orderly fashion, go out slowly and friendly, even if they seem distrustful. We will smile at them even if they do not smile at us. Got it? Good.”

  “Oh, look,” Kelner said. “We’re going right inside.”

  He turned the detectors off, but not before noting that the other four fighters had joined him in the queue.

  The station swallowed the five shuttles. He heard the thunk as they docked. The hatch still showed vacuum, then outside pressure slowly increased until it achieved one atmosphere.

  “Major Müller, Haida Gwaii. Fighter-1 may disembark.”

  “We understand, and will comply.”

  Müller got up in the heavier gravity, and led the way. As he suspected, the stationers met him with guards, armed and ready. What surprised him, though, was the refueling lines that workers had already stretched out to his fighters. They might distrust him, but were prepared to back him all the way should they decide in his favour.

  A huge, older man greeted him.

  “Major Müller? I’m Hank Lowe, security chief. This is Sergeant Jensen, one of our new-found allies.”

  “Guten Tag, Herr Major. Willkomen zum Haida Gwaii,” the Sergeant said, surprising Müller with his German.

  “Guten Tag,” Müller replied, then switched to English. “I know your voice. You called the warning.”

  “Correct, Major.” He held out his hand, and Müller took it.

  His men and women looked on, Schmidt showing his distaste at greeting someone in a USNA uniform. Müller decided he’d better get that cleared up.

  “You wear a USNA uniform, Sergeant. Yet you fight what you claimed are USNA soldiers?”

  “Correct, again. They are fanatics, brainwashed and highly conditioned to obey. The colonel who commands them knew about this war in advance; he’s one of those who wanted it. He tried to brainwash us, too, but it didn’t hold, so he decided to have us killed. We fight for our new home, Haida Gwaii. Is this a problem?”

  Müller turned. “Is this a problem, Hauptmann Schmidt?”

  Schmidt glared. “I will gladly work with these men if I can kill those who helped destroy my country.”

  To Müller’s surprise, Schmidt held out his hand. The American took it. “You follow me, Hauptmann, and you’ll get your chance.” He looked down. “But we’d better get you a weapon. Innis, give this man a pistol. You can shoot?”

  “I can shoot. Just give me something to shoot at.”

  Jensen smiled. “We’ll do that, sure enough.”

  The soldier named Innis handed Schmidt a holstered weapon complete with four extra magazines. Schmidt buckled it on, pulled the weapon, checked the magazine, and then replaced it in the holster.

  “Show me these fanatics,” he said, voice grim, face unreadable.

  “Guess you really are friends,” Jensen said. “Okay, let the others out.”

  And from behind crates in the landing bay, other soldiers appeared, each with an automatic rifle. They had taken few chances.

  The rest of the Germans exited their craft, and lined up to receive weapons – those that didn’t have any.

  Müller’s eyebrows went up when he saw Jaswinder Yrden herself approa
ch them. She came right up to him.

  “Major Müller?”

  “Jawohl, Frau Yrden.”

  “We have a problem.” She looked as worried as she had looked when he had originally contacted her.

  “The nature of this problem?”

  “A patrol ship has dropped from hyperspace, and has begun accelerating towards us – not towards Earth or the Moon, you understand, but has taken a course to intercept us.”

  Müller closed his eyes a moment, then looked over Yrden’s shoulder to Erika Baumeister. So close, they had come so close.

  Yrden continued, “Know also that we have information that at least one of these Earth cruisers has gone pirate – perhaps most of them. We are not yet ready to jump to hyperspace. We need time to gain more distance from the Moon. Our tradeship, Venture, has begun accelerating to intercept them – against my direct orders – but she will certainly fail. I, therefore–”

  Müller interrupted her. “Everyone! We need a volunteer crew for each fighter. A patrol ship threatens our new home. We must go to full acceleration to intercept it before it gets within range to kill this station.” He paused to let that sink in. “We may not have enough fuel to return.

  “I need pilots, and crews for each fighter; I will pilot Fighter-1. Volunteers: line up behind your pilots.” He took his place.

  “We will not let this separate us, Karl,” Erika said, and took her place beside him, despite his shake of the head. “You are gallant, but I would rather die fighting the way I know best than to remain defenceless. And I will go with you – to the end.”

  Schmidt came over. “I prefer to see what I want to kill, Herr Major, but I will go with you if you wish.”

  “Thank you, Erich. Go kill some fanatics.”

  He received a cold smile in return, and Schmidt turned away.

  Müller saw Feldwebel Hirsch. “I hope I haven’t brought you all this way only to get you killed, Feldwebel.”

  Hirsch rubbed at the side of his head. “Had you not brought us, Herr Major, I would now lie dead beneath the rubble of our base. And I have experienced space. Have no regrets.”