by James Evans
There was a thick transparent panel in the upper half of the door, and he tilted his head forward to glance through it. A barracks room with rows of sleeping compartments against the walls and in the middle of the room, four high, stretching from floor to ceiling.
Each bay was sealed with an opaque shutter. If the artificial gravity failed - not unlikely in an emergency - waking up to find that you were falling toward the middle of the room was not helpful. Better to be safely sealed in but that meant he couldn’t see whether the compartments were occupied.
He paused for a few seconds, peering along the corridor between the pods, but no enemy personnel were visible.
He motioned for his team to join him and opened the door, sliding inside to check the first compartment. The translucent panel opened at his touch and revealed an empty bed. He checked two more compartments, both empty before his team arrived and started with the other side of the room.
The fourth compartment was occupied, and Ten swiftly folded the pillow toward the head, jammed the barrel of his pistol into it and fired. There was a wet crunching sound, but the foam further muffled the sound of his already suppressed pistol. In a chamber like this, even a quiet weapon was loud enough to wake the enemy.
He heard a couple of dull shots behind him as the team dealt with more of the enemy. Another compartment, another swift execution, but their luck wouldn’t hold much longer.
In the next compartment, the occupant was already moving as Ten reached for the pillow. He cursed under as the intended victim turned its head toward him and the eyes flicked open, widening in panic.
Ten fired, but the alien was already moving. It shifted quickly, trying to sit up and twist out of the sleeping chamber. The shot went wide, thudding into the mattress. Then the alien slapped its left arm toward him, knocking the gun from Ten’s hand. The alien began to shout, loudly. Ten yanked the arm, pulling the alien toward him then wrapped his right arm around its neck. He tightened the hold and fell back on the floor with the alien on top of him as it kicked and struggled.
He wrapped his legs around the alien’s waist to control it and scrabbled for a knife, stabbing it into the alien’s torso while trying to keep quiet. It took too long, far too long. The alien kicked, struggled and gurgled as it died and Ten could already hear other compartments opening around the room.
“Don’t let them raise the alarm!” he called out as he flung the corpse away and rolled to his feet.
Ten snatched up his pistol and hurried toward the open compartments, firing on instinct and without caution, trying to kill as many of the enemy as he could. He could hear the faint coughs of pistol fire around him from the rest of the team and, for a few glorious seconds, he thought they might recover the situation and stop it becoming an absolute shit show.
Then someone found a rifle, and he wasn’t friendly.
Automatic weapon fire screamed through the barracks, rounds ricocheting from the sleeping compartments.
“Fuck!” shouted one of the others, Ten couldn’t tell who, as they all sought cover.
Ten holstered his pistol and sheathed his knife, unslinging the alien rifle he carried across his back. His team were doing the same as they knelt or lay behind cover. Fortunately, the sleeping chambers were pretty solid, designed to protect an occupant from decompression, and they made good cover.
“Lieutenant, we’re in the barracks, and it’s gone hot. No alarm yet but it won’t be long,” he passed on via the HUD.
“Understood,” Warden replied. He spoke to the entire team. “Heads up! Switch to primary weapons, press hard and fast, expect resistance. Let’s not give these bastards time to work out what’s going on or where we are.” The map showed that they’d swept about an eighth of the ship so far, including two dropship bays. “Let’s clear the barracks, secure the next bays then find the bridge. No quarter to be given.”
Ten grinned, reached into a pouch, pulled out a grenade and threw it to the far end of the room. “Flash bang,” he shouted for the benefit of his team, then, “grenade,” as he threw the second object. It wasn’t exactly sporting to disorient the enemy and then throw a fragmentation grenade but the time for fair play was long gone.
He rolled over and up into a crouch behind the compartment that was his shelter, clapping his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. The HUDs lenses would block most of the flash, and he had time and cover to his advantage.
After the second explosion, Ten hefted his weapon and advanced, quickly but quietly. He knew from experience that ear-splitting sounds could still be heard by the victims of a flash bang. Well, by humans, at any rate; he had no idea how the aliens might react. Fast and quiet, then. No shouting or screaming war cries, which was about the stupidest thing you could do in a situation like this.
Instead, he moved up the room like a panther searching for prey, rapidly but smoothly on the balls of his feet. One round to the head or a couple to the chest of any alien he thought might still be able to move, then immediately on to the next. His HUD showed the bulk of A Troop already at the door of this barracks or the one on the other side of the ship. His job wasn’t to be one hundred percent sure about each enemy but to kill, injure or incapacitate so those following could tidy up behind him.
There was a burst of fire from somewhere ahead, but it wasn’t aimed at him, and he sprinted around the side of a row of sleeping bays to find one determined alien, in its underwear, desperately trying to reload its rifle.
Ten coughed politely and, as it turned to face him, put a quick burst into its face.
“Sorry, old chum, good effort though.” A quick death was the least he could do.
There was a moment of sudden silence after the appalling noise of the files. No enemy movement, no shouts or shots. Ten looked around to double check then grabbed the alien’s weapon, slamming a new magazine into it before reloading his own weapons.
“Lieutenant,” Ten acknowledged.
“Marine X. How’s it going?”
“We’re secure for the moment, but I’d be amazed if we didn’t have a tough fight ahead,” Ten replied, “there’s a spare rifle if anyone needs one.”
Warden checked his HUD; the second barracks was secured. Two marines were down though, Maxwell and McDonald. Just twenty-five Commandos left to finish the mission. Would it be enough, he wondered?
Chapter Thirteen
“Barlow, Jenkins, Goodwin! Get the drones out, full offensive mode. I want what’s ahead, and I want to know now,” Warden called out. Milton had her half of the troop lined up in the barracks opposite, ready to storm the next area of the ship. There were only two exits from each barracks, the ones they’d entered by at port and starboard and one facing the front of the ship. Warden had sent Goodwin back out into the corridor, to the crossroads that ran between the two barracks, along with Lance Corporal Jean Bailey and her spotter, Marine Adam Parker.
The micro-drones went first, the smallest the tech-specialists had with them. Warden cursed their lack of equipment; a more established colony would have had far more toys for them to play with.
It was the specialist pico-drones he really missed, the ones used exploring and mapping enemy buildings or vessels. They were tiny, fast and hard to detect, far smaller than the micro-drones which were a multi-purpose compromise.
In the sterile environment of a ship, especially one as densely fitted-out as this one appeared to be; the micro-drone wasn’t nearly as discrete as he’d have liked. It was still better than sticking your head around a corner and finding an enemy with a shotgun waiting for you, though.
The drones quickly added the next corridors, which were empty, to the floor plan. They couldn’t get through bulkheads or locked doors, but they were perfect for scouting open areas. Barlow sent an update identifying two doors at port and starboard as matches to the ones in the other docking bays.
It looked like they’d found their objective. Between the remains of A Troop and those all-important dropship bays, there was a series of smal
ler rooms, possibly officer’s quarters judging by the number of doors and size.
“Marines X, Fletcher and Harrington. Clear those rooms, quick as you can please. Techs, I want combat drones guarding those launch bay doors. Once we breach, attack the storerooms and armoury between the bays. Milton, once the cabins are clear, take the rest of your team through that dropship bay as fast as possible. Everyone, keep your breathers handy in case of atmospheric breach,” Warden ordered.
Ten was done with the first cabin before Warden had finished his orders and they swept from port to starboard along the corridor. Resistance was light, only a few rounds were discharged, and no firefight broke out. It was over in less than two minutes, and Warden ordered an immediate assault on the bays.
The commandos surged forward, rushing for their assigned doors, the techs and sniper teams bringing up the rear. Warden’s team stormed into the port dropship bay, aside from markings and the dropship being clean of mud and dust, it was identical. No enemies were visible, so they jogged across the hangar.
“Marine X, get that door open now, we need to flank them, Milton’s team are under heavy fire in the other dropship bay.”
Ten nodded grimly and sprinted to the door across the bay in the direction of the bow.
Warden issued orders rapidly, sending half his group through the door with Ten and the other half east into the armoury and workshop area that linked the two dropship bays. He sent the techs and the sniper teams toward the storage rooms. If the layout was symmetrical, when they reached the middle of the three storerooms, they could go north into the armoury and workshop area.
If the enemy were in there as well as the starboard dropship hangar, they’d be caught between Warden’s team on their port side, the techs and sniper teams coming from the aft and Marine X’s group from the bow. They’d flip the enemy ambush on its head and turn the hunters into the hunted.
He checked Milton’s view again. It was bad. Not everyone had found cover and casualties were mounting.
Warden sprinted starboard, cursing the doors that responded only slowly to his key card. Too slow, too slow, he thought.
“We’re on our way, Milton. Keep your heads down,” he broadcast.
“It’s a bit unfriendly in here, Sir. Hope you can lighten the mood soon,” she replied.
He reached the middle room, bursting in behind the techs as they reached the bow door.
“Go, go, go!” he yelled as he crossed the room, pressing his card against the lock. His HUD was alive with contact markers.
Ten and his team were in a firefight in the corridor.
Milton was still pinned down. The munition and repair equipment storage areas were well defended.
Someone went down as Warden reached the last storeroom door. Behind it, the remnants of Milton’s team were pinned in the hanger.
Warden crouched as it opened, bringing his carbine to his shoulder and wishing he’d grabbed one of the more substantial alien weapons. No time for regrets, though. He leaned just far enough to his right to sight the weapon toward the wall opposite Milton, where the enemy was taking cover. They were on the balcony at the same height as him and the ground floor below, all well sheltered from the Marines’ fire. Lots of metal storage crates were clamped to the floor, and the railings had safety panels to fill the gaps.
With a trio of whumpfs, that sounded a lot like a fast-moving drift of snow falling off a roof; he launched a series of grenades at the balcony. He gave a count of one and then sighted roughly where the enemy was on the ground floor and pulled the trigger, keeping it depressed and controlling the muzzle climb as best he could while he emptied the magazine.
He ducked back into cover as he smoothly swapped the magazine, cycling through the views of his team, trying to get a better sight line of the area he’d hit. Nothing clear.
“Get me a drone in the hangar for fuck’s sake! I don’t care if it gets hit, we’re losing people,” he ordered, “we need visibility.”
He leaned around the doorway again and emptied another magazine. He sprayed indiscriminately into the cloud of smoke and dust from the grenades, then took cover again. He wasn’t likely to inflict any damage, but it should keep the enemy’s heads down.
Finally, a drone made it into the hangar, hugging the ceiling as it scanned the huge bay. Ghostly red imagery overlaid his own view, and now Warden knew where the enemy were. There was movement in the cloud, at least one enemy was still active. He reloaded his carbine with grenades and a fresh magazine, slung it across his back and pulled out his pistol, suppressor already attached.
He threw two more grenades and sent a silent message - “Flash bangs” - to Milton’s team.
Then he ran through the doorway and along the balcony, directly at the aliens and into the smoke. He skidded to his knees as the first infra-red blob loomed out of the smoke before him. The smoke shifted, and the kneeling alien seemed to coalesce out of the fog. It turned toward him, a look of horror on its face, as Warden’s suppressor touched its forehead.
The weapon bucked, and the alien fell back. Warden was already rising, rebreather on, moving into the smoke. It was risky, but the drone would have painted him a friendly blue, and they didn’t have the numbers to be dainty about it.
He took the next alien with three hurried rounds to the chest, not even stopping as he rounded the corner of the balcony and began to move down it. Another blob appeared, coughing in the swirling smoke, and Warden lifted his weapon. He heard the telltale pings of rounds bouncing off powered armour as the towering figure became visible. His heart pounded. It was one of the enormous brutes he’d tackled planetside, only this time in full power armour.
Warden glanced despondently at his pistol. The alien hadn’t seen him yet, but the smoke was clearing. He holstered his weapon and began to reach for another, staying as still as possible in the hope it wouldn’t spot him.
Then the head snapped toward him, the helmet expressionless. Warden could almost see the alien’s face, hear its grunt of surprise. He imagined the alien was looking at him with surprise and mouthing whatever the equivalent of “What the fuck?”
Warden grinned lopsidedly and threw his weapons to the floor at the feet of the gigantic trooper. It looked down for a moment then looked back up as Warden waved and bravely ran away. He took three steps, unslinging his carbine as he ran toward the corner then dove for cover through an open door.
The explosion of the grenades he’d gifted the alien was deafening. His ears rang, and the air was acrid with smoke. He checked his HUD and realised where he was. Lifting his head from the deck, he saw two alien troopers gaping at him. He was in the armoury. Behind the enemy. Not the ideal place to take cover.
Their weapons came around, and he had nowhere to go. His teams were behind cover, but the space between Warden and them was wide open. He rolled, and alien rounds chattered from the barrels. He kept rolling, waiting for the impact. Then he hit a wall and fumbled at his carbine, scrabbling to point it at the enemy.
Then he blinked. Both troopers were dead.
Ten stood over them, one foot on the crushed neck of an alien. Something dripped in his left hand and in his right was the large, glowing alien knife.
“I fucking love this knife Lieutenant,” said Ten with obvious glee.
Warden looked at the body and back at the head Ten gripped by its hair. He’d taken it clean off with the knife. Then he casually tossed it out through the door, toward the spot in the hangar where the aliens had been. There were several bursts of fire.
“For fuck’s sake! Was that Marine X? Would you tell him to stop doing that, Lieutenant, it’s not funny anymore,” Milton broadcast.
Warden sucked in a lungful of air and rolled onto his back laughing, “Sorry, Sergeant, not this time.”
Chapter Fourteen
“What’s the casualty list, Milton?”
&nb
sp; “We lost Barber, Mitchell and Lee, Sir, and Corporal Campbell is mortally injured. Some further injuries but nothing serious. All told, we have twenty-one personnel,” she replied.
Warden clenched his fist, the nails digging into his palm. The odds were not in their favour. They still had a substantial portion of the ship to clear and no way of knowing how many enemy combatants were still active. There could be half a dozen ship crew or thirty power-armoured troopers waiting for them.
“Wilson, what’s our drone situation?” he asked, turning to the Corporal who was the most senior of their tech specialists.
“We lost a few in that engagement, Sir. We have a handful of micro-drones but only two functioning combat drones. Not that they’re much use on board this ship,” he said apologetically.
“We need visibility, Wilson. Any drones you have, I want out there, mapping the rest of the ship and gathering intel. If the combat drones can take any action, do so. We don’t need to worry about discretion now,” said Warden.
“Can do, Sir, but it won’t leave us any spares. When we’re planetside, we won’t have surveillance until we can fabricate more drones and the colonists lost that satellite network, as well as a lot of their communications grid. Do you want us to go ahead, bearing that in mind?”
Warden considered for a moment, then nodded, “We don’t have a choice, Corporal. If we don’t complete our mission here, we won’t be getting planetside anyway. Even if we retreated, they have three more dropships, and we’d be facing overwhelming odds within twenty-four hours if they deployed just the clones they already have. I’d rather have this ship crippled and be blind planetside than face those odds. Be careful with the combat drones but don’t hesitate to sacrifice them if you can take out an armoured trooper or we get another firefight like this one, ok?”
