by J. W. Kurtz
"Sure thing. You and Bachman can hear the plan together," Weston responded. She then hailed Bachman over the tactical net.
Chapter 17:
Laaken and Petrov had retreated into the spaces that were camera and sensor free. A result of their purposeful campaign of prosecuting those systems as they had moved forward. They were taking stock and reassessing their situation. Laaken was far calmer than his teammate, Petrov, who had lost the small amount of cool that he'd initially carried into the assault.
"How the fuck did that happen?!" Petrov screamed into his comms. "I'm down to 50 percent combat effectiveness! Both my shoulder mounts and the jammer are trashed!"
Laaken, wincing from the piercing volume of Petrov's tantrum, had to turn down the speaker level on his local squad comms net.
"Calm down. Keep your head," Laaken directed. "We're still two heavies against lightly armored boots. Hell, it looked like several were in fucking vacsuits. We're still far better armored and better gunned than they are. There's no sign of heavy defenders."
"What about Dixon? He's not on comms. They must'a knocked him out," Petrov replied thankfully now via a much lower volume. "Maybe they concentrated their heavies aft?"
"I doubt they knocked Dixon out. He's a loner psycho. That's how he operates. He probably turned any emissions off the second we split up so he'd be able to sneak up on people...as much as you can sneak up in these suits," Laaken assured his edgy partner. Laaken had worked with Dixon for almost a year. He knew how the man worked. "You may be down a couple systems but at least you can aim. With the shitty lighting and smoke I have to shoot where you shoot. All my targeting, thermal, infrared...you name it, I'm down to mark one eyeballs here. Even my HUD is down. You're still more effective than I am so stop your bitching."
Petrov only grunted.
Laaken was going to withhold his next statement but thought better of it. If he remained silent on the subject it could kill him in the future. And he would like to avoid that if he could.
"Now I have to say it, that grenade fire of yours was just plain grade-A stupid as fuck. What if that deck had collapsed onto us? Buried in 500-tons of steel bulkhead is a shitty way to go. Stow that shit next time. They were broken. That move after the flash-scrambler, that bitch that charged us and planted those explosives on you, that was desperation. They were withdrawing plain and simple. They had the opportunity to press the advantage and they didn't because they couldn't. Keep your cool next time. For a big ship there's a crazy small number of crew. Good for us. Bad for them. "
"Yeah. Yeah, I know," Petrov replied with a bit of sheepishness creeping into his voice. A confession of stupidity was as far as Petrov would go to apologizing. He never apologized even when he knew he was absolutely wrong. "Whatever happened to that bitch that fucked up my armor by the way?"
Petrov couldn't see the grin on the face of Laaken but he could guess it was there by the happy response, "Oh, I swatted her into the bulkhead the moment my suit regained power. I hit her hard enough I bet she was dead before she hit the fuckin' bulkhead. If not, shrapnel from your grenade fire had to of taken her out."
Petrov was quiet for a moment before he coldly responded, "Good."
"Okay, we hope that Dixon is nearly to engineering and that he decides to NOT blow up the ship," Laaken said sarcastically. "Which, we both must admit, is a fifty-fifty proposition, at best."
"At best," Petrov agreed.
Neither liked working with the man for numerous reasons. Dixon would only work alone, outright refusing to be a part of a team. Ideally they would've sent him forward, and far away from the more delicate areas such as engineering and propulsion. But, it was thought that a team of two assault forward and a solo heading aft would be the best plan. In theory it was...if not for the wildcard variable that was the psyche of Angelo Dixon. Laaken kicked himself for not spacing the man months ago.
"But, we must continue on as if he's been taken out because that ass has a history of nixing his comms, so he doesn't give away his position, but mostly so he doesn't here directives to take prisoners. He really hates prisoners."
Petrov was quiet in his response. Heavy armor would not allow the wearer to nod however, they could shrug their heavy shoulders somewhat, and that's exactly what Petrov did. He really didn't have anything to say on the matter of taking prisoners because he usually didn't take them either, even when he himself heard the directive from his commanding officer, boss, or whoever was calling the shots and approving the pay dispersements.
"How's your nav system?" Laaken asked as he returned to their local and immediate problem. "My nav might be working...but with my HUD down I couldn't follow it anyway."
"Checking for a new route...shit!" Petrov barked. His volume nearly returned to recent tantrum level requiring Laaken to consider adjusting the comm level further. "My nav's out. Everything but targeting and comms is gone. And I can't slave my nav system to yours due to an 'incomplete update' error I get in the system. It's not damage related. It's because our boss went cheap on us."
Petrov was pissed and incredulous at the same time, which was a disposition that seemed to be the new norm for the man regardless of chemical influences. Even when not on stims, Laaken was finding this to be Petrov. His annoyance was growing for the man. It wasn't quite to the level of personal irritation he had for Dixon...but it was steadily getting there.
"Yeah, these things are built for brute force and survivability. The Ogres are not built with all the bells and techno whistles for sure...but they are better than what we usually face and Captain errrr...our now deceased employer had to go on the cheap from time to time. Be thankful we even have this gear in the first place even if it's less than tip-top. If we were a half squad of light boots on this boarding op we'd certainly be dead by now."
Laaken was thankful that Petrov answered with silence.
The two had by now retraced their path aft a ways. They were careful and sure to keep in the fog of war created by their practice of destroying cameras and sensors as they had originally moved forward. Both were now at a corridor that Laaken believed, from his quick study of the schematics prior to the assault, was a short jaunt to the central corridor of the ship.
Originally they had avoided taking the central corridor in their move toward environmental and the bridge because it allowed for ambushes from all sides including from above and below. Unfortunately, the path they had eventually taken looked to have been anticipated due to the resistance provided, as hasty as it had seemed. Either the captain of the ship was wise or Laaken and his team were simply unlucky. The former was easily matched as Laaken was a veteran of many actions himself and he knew he would rise to the challenge of a clever opponent. The latter however was a flip of the coin. If luck wasn't on your side it could be a tremendous uphill battle. Not many of those standing on the side of victory ever claimed to not enjoy the benefits of good happenstance.
The central corridor, avoided at first, was now due to necessity, the new route to their objective. Laaken thought it was ridiculous that something designated as a "central corridor" would be so winding however. If memory served him right, there was nary a straight length of corridor more than thirty or forty meters to be had in this so called "central corridor" or anywhere else on the ship for that matter. The spine of this ship was as crooked as a snake. Why the old ships were built that way was beyond him. Perhaps it was all the cross bracing required to hold the two smaller hulls together and the resulting space between the bracing was utilized in this manner.. He knew that this class of old cruiser, like many of its era, were just a series of smaller craft joined together. It was a practice born out of expediency required in a desperate time. Larger combat ships were needed and fast. The answer was to stick together a bunch of smaller ones, attach the appropriate prefabricated engineering section that included propulsion and power generation, and off went the cruiser, battleship, carrier, monitor, etc. into battle during the A.I. War.
The crews of these bastardized con
glomerations of metal must feel awfully claustrophobic he thought. Most probably, the most popular destination for crew working on this class of cruiser, was the main hangar simply in an exercise to relieve stress due to lack of any wide open space. Corridors on the far smaller Cassius were easily both longer and wider. Laaken was beginning to feel the walls pressing in on him just in the short time he'd been aboard. He knew it probably felt different outside the heavy suit, and once he took control of the ship he would finally know.
"Remember to keep smoke and gas to a minimum from here on. I want to be able to see what I'm shooting at. Even if they can see and target us they don't seem to have anything that can touch us from a distance," Laaken directed. "We can't let them get close again and plant any more explosives. That's the only thing that they can do to stop us...oh and remember to watch for their mines," Laaken chided somewhat needlessly, but with Petrov he felt that the reminder was not entirely wasted. "Let's keep it nice and slow from here on. I think we're only 100-meters from environmental and 150 or so from the bridge if we take this revised route."
"How'd you know?" Petrov responded breaking his recent silence.
With a heavy gauntlet, scarred from carbon and pitted from plasma strikes and ricocheting shrapnel, Laaken pointed to a nearby bulkhead and said, "Look at the sign to starboard, smart guy. And Then look at your feet."
"You've got to be shitting me. This old bucket...," Petrov said with an incredulous voice as he easily read the color coded sign under the regular lights of the corridor, the team having left the red emergency lighting behind them several twists and turns ago.
"Yeah, they don't use holo-nav like everything else built in the past 50-years. They use signage on the bulkheads and 'follow the painted lines' for intra-ship navigation. If we follow the blue line we'll end up at environmental. Follow the white and we're at the bridge 50-meters beyond that."
"Looks like we're in business," a newly invigorated Petrov shared.
"Let's jump off. Remember, be cautious but aggressive. We'll go shoulder to shoulder from here on. I have the right half and you the left. If anyone is dumb enough to stand in the middle we both get 'em. Got it?" Laaken asked.
"Roger that. I'm ready to be done with this. Let's burn 'em all down."
Chapter 18:
On the bridge of the Bellerophon, a weak banging, more akin to a scuffing on metal, was heard coming from the other side of the hatch to the bridge. Heads of the deck crew snapped in the direction of the odd new sound invading their space. Wray immediately called up the feed from the external camera affixed over the hatch and sent it to the center of the three main displays mounted on the bulkhead before the bridge.
A very uncomfortable looking Simon Totts was floating in the zero-g section of the corridor immediately outside the bridge. One arm was braced in a sling while the other was hooked around a handhold beside the hatch. He had enough understanding of weightlessness that had he knocked on the door hard enough to be heard through it, he would have been propelled in the opposite direction. The handhold allowed him to kick the heavy hatch and not fly down the corridor with its gravity plating out of commission.
Wray had to give the man some credit for once, for Totts was able to get into an acceleration couch after the collision with the frigate despite his injuries. Obviously he was then able to apply first aid to himself, enough to allow mobility for him to get dressed and make it to the bridge. It was a shame he was most likely driven to such action only to give Wray and his crew only further headaches. Also, Wray feared that Totts was on enough pain killers that his foolishness would far exceed the norm with him being all dopy. Wray seriously considered leaving the hatch secured so as not to deal with the pain in the ass Totts, but then he saw Oren Pfeiffer float into the picture. It was then that the Captain came to the conclusion that it was necessary to take the good with the bad sometimes.
He moved over to the hatch and overrode the electronic lock and then the manual mechanism as well. The heavy hatch swished aside to recess into the heavy bulkhead. The two newcomers transitioned from the zero-gravity of the corridor to standard of the bridge, one obviously with far more polish than the other in the maneuver.
Totts looked like shit. He was dressed in the standard gray crew overalls which were nearly soaked through with acceleration gel. It appeared as though the man hadn't attempted to towel off the annoying yet essential substance. His face and neck were ashen with his skin glistening from a combination of sweat and gel. He was shivering, the whites of his eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils were dilated. Totts was in a bad state and should never have come to the bridge. Wray was very much far from happy to see the state Totts was in. Now it was up to the bridge crew, a very preoccupied bridge crew at that, to babysit the man.
Wray gruffly directed the convalescing Totts to sit in the unoccupied security station adjoining the hatch. The Captain quickly made sure the controls to the station were first locked out. Totts complied without statement or argument one. He looked quite relieved to be off his feet.
Pfeiffer on the other hand was a much welcomed addition to the bridge. He looked to have recovered from his most recent NIFS experience. He had arrived bearing a heavy equipment bag slung over his shoulder all the while wearing a light combat suit that Wray was unfamiliar with and unaware the man had in his possession.
"Feeling better, Oren?" Wray asked as he closed the hatch and re-engaged both the electronic and manual locks.
Pfeiffer nodded but he was gritting his teeth while he did so. His unease and discomfort obvious.
"I've piloted craft with the NIFS a hundred times both in training and in combat. The hardest part is always the disconnection," Pfeiffer said as he took a strained breath. "It's like standing on a cliff and then jumping off...that falling sensation that wakes you from a dream, it just goes on and on. I threw up everything I had in me. It's just dry heaves now, but at least the headache's gone. Mostly. Here, I brought you guys something," and Oren handed the heavy duffel bag to Wray.
Wray placed the heavy bag on the deck and unzipped it. He was surprised to find a half-dozen plasma pistols all with full charges along with a couple short barreled plasma carbines. Wray stood up and apprised the closest thing he had to an executive officer.
"Where'd the hell you get these? And the suit as well?" he asked as he gestured to bag and then to Pfeiffer and his garb. "That's not the standard stuff our Alpha and Beta teams use."
Before Pfeiffer could answer, the voice of Gavin Alexander, who was still monitoring numerous video and sensor feeds in the area where the hostile boarding team was suspected to traversing, called out from his station across the bridge.
"I've got 'em, Captain!"
Both Wray and Pfeiffer hurried to Alexander's side, while Totts however remained firmly planted in his seat near the hatch, seemingly content with staying put. At least for the time being.
Wray and Pfeiffer hurried over and spotted the two heavy boarders on the active display before Alexander. The heavy Ogre battlesuited boarders were clearly visible on the display as they stood in a well lit corridor of the ship. One of the two was pointing at a navigation map of the Belle' nearby posted along a bulkhead. The other then pointed to the deck and the painted navigation lines. The scene all being captured by a camera the two hostiles had failed to spot and neutralize. Finally, one of the two spied the active camera, raised a forearm mounted weapon and fired once...and missed. The second shot took out the camera, but that miss was very telling. The whole scene was in fact extremely informative.
For one, it showed Wray that this team of boarders lacked active navigation systems and were reliant upon the navigation signs located throughout the ship. There had to be a way this could be used to the advantage of his crew somehow. The second thing this scene showed was that the hostiles targeting appeared to be suspect. An advantage that now appeared to be lost for at least one of the two.
The captured scene was run back to allow a closer review and examination of the hostiles
state. It was clear that both the heavies had sustained damage in the exchange with Alpha as the scars from recent battle bespoke the punishment.
Alexander sifted through several other active feeds on a side display before he found what he was looking for.
"Found 'em again, Boss. The two heavies just stepped into the central corridor and are continuing forward one deck up from their last confirmed position. Looks like they're moving slowly and with caution, no doubt looking for more mines, which they don't know are not waiting for them. They're still taking out cameras, sensors, and any monitors they come across. Doesn't appear that they're popping smoke and gas any longer. Change of tactics or again it confirms their enhanced targeting optics are down. I've connected the updated data feed with Bachman, Chavez, and Weston. They know the heavies are Oscar Mike again."
"Nice work, Gavin. Nice work. Upload this to the data stream so our people can collaborate if possible. This needs to go out on the personal comm net as well. Ayad doesn't have full access from the vacsuit he's using. Maybe Alpha, with the addition of Weston and Chavez, can send him ideas on how to slow down that lone wolf until they're able to support him better," Wray directed as he patted Alexander on the shoulder for a job well done.
Wray then addressed the bridge and gave an order that was not usually given while a ship was in deep space and underway.
"Shut down all primary and backup systems except for lighting, communications, tactical data streams, and artificial gravity. Everything else goes off or to standby if not able to be shut completely down."
A chorus of "affirmatives" sounded across the bridge. No one questioned the odd order. An order that would make them a sitting duck if an unfriendly craft were to show up. But every head on the bridge turned and looked at Wray when he followed up his order with a an unexpected statement.
