“I understand. As long as it fools the enemy for a second or two. See to it at once.” He checked the speed of the transport shuttle. “I reckon there are less than seven minutes until they land. They’ll be expecting to see a number of their brethren carrying data arrays and at least one AI core. We’ll meet you up there as soon as we finish here.”
“Roger.”
No sooner had his conversation with Ortiz finished than Duggan became aware of a further development. The Valpian had launched two more vessels, these ones more than twice the size of the first.
“Those will carry the ground forces needed to repel our attack,” said Red-Gulos. “They could contain several hundred soldiers, as well as some heavy weapons.”
“They’ll be here in twelve minutes, sir,” said McLeod. “There’s no room for those additional shuttles to land on the roof.”
“They’ll unload on the perimeter,” said Duggan. “And I don’t intend being here when they come knocking on our door.”
“If we intend to steal their data arrays and processing core, we should begin the search at once,” said Red-Gulos.
“Hold! We’re going to try and land a much bigger fish now and I don’t want to be slowed down by four hundred pounds of AI core and associated memory banks. We’re going to have a hard time getting everyone to the roof in time as it is.”
Byers spoke, as if she’d just that moment realised exactly what Duggan was planning and the reason they needed to capture the transport vessel. “Are we really going to storm the Valpian, sir?”
“We’re going to give it our best shot, soldier. And for once, luck is on our side – the enemy has committed a substantial number of troops to reinforce this base. Except we’re not going to be here when they arrive.”
“We’re going to be on their warship,” Red-Gulos replied, sounding as close to happy as Duggan had ever heard from a Ghast.
Duggan hesitated before ordering his squad to move in the direction of the roof. “Is there anything we can do to disable this monitoring station?” he asked.
“Maybe,” said Byers. “If so, I don’t know how to do it. What about you, McLeod?”
“Sorry, sir. I can’t help you with that.”
“What if I got Rasmussen to blow this console up with his plasma launcher?”
“It won’t destroy the data. They’ll need to buy an expensive new piece of kit to replace this one, but the backups won’t be here.”
“Never mind,” said Duggan. “I don’t think it’s of vital importance. They clearly don’t know where the Crimson is. However, I don’t want them recapturing this room and speaking to the Valpian while we’re on the roof. Scatter grenades around it and leave them on a one-minute timer.”
It didn’t take long to leave plasma grenades at the edge of the main console. There was a lot of other equipment in the room which Duggan didn’t recognize. They were going to have to leave it to chance and hope there was no backup comms gear elsewhere. Either that or rely on the enemy being slow to get here.
He ordered his squad to make haste and they doubled back to the huge room with the two tanks inside. The vehicles had been expertly positioned a few inches within the outer wall breaches to make it difficult for the enemy soldiers to get past. There was gunfire, which came in sporadic bursts and pinged against the Gunthers. Ortiz waited next to a distant doorway.
“This way!” she said. “The enemy have fallen back and they seem happy to wait us out.”
“They have reinforcements coming, Lieutenant. Two big shuttles packed with their friends. They’re probably congratulating themselves on their coming victory.”
Ortiz laughed. “Follow me. There are a lot of steps.”
“Is it clear?”
“As far as I know.”
Duggan and his squad joined with Ortiz. They went through the doorway and into another passageway, which they jogged along two abreast. After forty or fifty metres, they passed something hanging from the wall, which Duggan realised with astonishment was a decorative picture. It consisted of a metal frame around a series of strong-coloured geometric shapes and was the first example of such he’d seen amongst either the Ghasts or the Dreamers. He felt an overwhelming temptation to take it with him, though it was not the time or the place to be carrying artwork. Aside from that, Duggan was an honourable man and he didn’t think he’d be able to steal, even from his foes.
They reached a wide doorway on the right. A series of metal-grilled steps went upwards for a way, before doubling back on themselves and continuing. A light flickered on and off and something buzzed insistently.
“This leads all the way to the top floor,” said Ortiz. “You can access the inside of the lens and there’s a doorway onto the roof.”
“Lead on,” said Duggan, itching to see how this would play out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE STAIRS TOOK them into a comparatively small, square room, eight metres to a side. There was no decoration whatsoever and Duggan’s suit helmet interpreted a smell in the air that was something akin to grease. It was unexpected, but not alarming. He listened for a moment, expecting sounds of pursuit. There was nothing.
“Over here,” said Ortiz, setting off at once through another doorway. This was much narrower than the others and Duggan saw why. It led onto a staircase, wide enough for one human or Ghast to walk up comfortably, whilst ensuring there was hardly room for two to cross if someone was coming down while another came up. The staircase curved to the right, until it disappeared from view.
“Does this go around the lens housing?” asked Duggan.
“Yes. There’s a whole load of technical stuff in a room above us. That’s where the others are – it’ll be a tight squeeze.”
The staircase had no railing, but it was easy enough to climb. At the top, it was clear Ortiz had not been exaggerating about the lack of space. There was a small, circular room, so filled with suited humans and Ghasts that the last two of Duggan’s squad had to remain on the steps. The walls were almost entirely covered in blue-lit screens, along with buttons and several banks of mechanical levers. It looked quite rudimentary.
There was a single exit door, constructed from thick-looking metal. It had a wheel in the middle to lock or unlock the door depending on how it was rotated. It was a long time since Duggan had seen such a mechanism. The Space Corps relied on electronics for nearly everything these days.
There were Ghasts at the door – Link-Tor, Glinter and Havon. Their hulking figures looked misshapen where they’d roughly clad themselves in the grey materials of the enemy spacesuits. Even in the dull light of the room it looked unconvincing and Duggan doubted the makeshift disguises would fool the enemy for long enough.
He squeezed his way close to the front. Someone made a joke in the open channel describing how surprised they were to see him arrive on time. Duggan was a stickler for punctuality, though the troops hadn’t forgotten the single time he’d kept them waiting.
“I think I’ve found my next volunteer,” said Duggan, grunting with the effort of getting through the crowd. “When I need someone to throw a grenade into a repeater nest, I know McLeod is the man.”
There was laughter, which quickly faded when the importance of the next few minutes reasserted its control over the mood.
“Sixty seconds until the shuttle lands,” said Red-Gulos.
“Get the door open,” said Duggan. “Don’t make it obvious.”
Glinter took hold of the locking wheel with one hand and give it a spin. The wheel turned easily. There was an associated handle which the Ghast pulled upwards. The seal made a quiet hiss as it was broken.
“We’re going to need both skill and luck to win this one,” said Duggan, speaking privately to Ortiz and Red-Gulos. “If the shuttle lands too far away or we’re slow, it’s game over for us.”
“Nothing new,” said Ortiz. She sounded on edge.
“Glinter, open that door a crack and stick your head out,” Duggan ordered.
The Ghast didn
’t acknowledge and nor did he delay. He put his shoulder to the metal and pushed. Nothing happened and he tried again.
“It opens inwards, you stupid bastard,” said Vaughan.
Far from being upset at the words, Glinter gave out a rumbling laugh and took a step back. He elbowed the other soldiers aside, and two more had to shuffle their way onto the steps. The Ghast pulled at the handle and the door let out a muffled clunk as it opened a fraction.
Duggan was close enough to see through the thirty-centimetre gap. There was a shape outside and the hint of flexible metal and an intricate helmet.
“Shit!” said Duggan. He tried to get his rifle free, but there was no room to bring it to bear. “Get back!” he shouted, pushing with his shoulders to try and clear some space.
Someone fired a gauss rifle. At the same time, Link-Tor thrust an enormously thick arm through the opening and pulled. An enemy soldier was dragged inside. There wasn’t enough room to accommodate an additional body and Duggan heard shouts of alarm when several of his troops were forced tumbling into the stairwell. Fists rose and fell and a second gauss rifle fizzed three times in rapid succession.
“He is dead,” said Link-Tor.
Duggan opened his mouth to order the attack. Another voice forestalled him - it was Jackson, the calmness in his voice a façade to cover the closeness of his death. “I’ve got a breach in my suit from that fall,” he said.
“Someone patch him up!”
“No can do, sir,” said Kidd. “His helmet is split open like a watermelon.”
Duggan swore. It was too late to do anything other than continue with the attack. “We need to move!” he said urgently. “If the others on the shuttle saw what happened, they’ll be halfway to the Valpian by now. Out! Go!”
Glinter tried to wrench the door open, only to discover the fallen enemy soldier was blocking the way. The Ghast kicked out a couple of times and hauled at the door again. This time, it opened much wider. Havon stooped and picked something up from by his feet, which Duggan hadn’t seen until this moment. The Ghast lifted up a large pack, which was draped in the grey material of the Dreamer spacesuits. He carried this pack in such a manner that it concealed much of his head and shoulders from casual scrutiny.
Link-Tor and Glinter had their own packs, which they hoisted up, to make it appear as if they held a cargo of vital equipment rescued from the building below.
“Go!” said Duggan.
“We are not armed,” said the Ghast.
“We’ll follow.”
Link-Tor stepped through the door, leading with his pack. “The enemy shuttle is to the left of the door and twenty metres away,” he reported on the comms. “Two guards on the ramp with rifles. No sign of alarm.”
The Ghast disappeared from view. Havon and Glinter followed a pace or two behind. Duggan took a deep breath – the shuttle was as close as he could have wanted, but there was still much that might go wrong. He found himself next in line to exit onto the roof.
“Don’t put any holes in that shuttle,” he said, stepping forwards. “It’s Jackson’s only chance.”
Even as he emerged onto the roof, he knew the soldier was doomed. If Jackson held his breath, the air in his lungs would expand, killing him quickly. If he expelled as much air as he could, he’d pass out from a lack of oxygen in a few seconds. Duggan knew he couldn’t afford to think about it and prepared himself for the coming attack.
He looked to the left and saw the shuttle parked nearby on the roof, resting on a dozen thin legs. The transport was rectangular at the bottom, with a curved roof. The cockpit was a streamlined wedge, with a silvery metal band running around the middle, which Duggan guessed might be a viewing window. The vessel was more elaborate than most of those in the Space Corps, but not exactly one to raise an eyebrow at the daringness of the design. The sun pierced the thin atmosphere and the temperature outside was searingly hot. The wind blew strongly and grit rattled off Duggan’s helmet. The low thrum of an idling gravity engine reached his ears, along with indistinct sounds of activity on the ground below.
The shuttle’s side door was down, creating a ramp. Havon and Glinter were halfway up and they grappled with two of the Dreamer guards as they attempted to wrest the weapons from the guards’ hands. The Ghasts’ packs were discarded on the roof nearby. Of Link-Tor there was no sign.
Duggan readied a shot and then thought better of it when he saw how risky it was. He sprinted over, his feet thumping hard onto the metal. He wasn’t halfway to the shuttle when he saw other shapes inside, with more outside and to the front of the vessel. He estimated there might be ten or more in total.
The first of Duggan’s squad dropped to their knees, firing shots in controlled bursts. Two of the Dreamers at the front of the shuttle were pitched onto their backs. There were others and they crouched behind the landing legs, preventing Duggan’s men from getting a clear shot.
“Keep them pinned down!” shouted Ortiz. She fired three rapid shots into the interior of the shuttle.
“If you puncture that shuttle, Jackson’s a dead man!” said Duggan.
“He’s already gone, sir,” she replied in the clipped tones she reserved for battlefield communications.
“Damnit!” Duggan fired two rounds from his own gun, anger making his aim poor. Nevertheless, he hit one of the Dreamers hiding at the front of the shuttle. It stumbled, clutching its leg, and was met by a hail of gauss slugs.
Duggan reached the bottom of the ramp. It seemed as if Havon was getting the best of his opponent, but Duggan didn’t leave it to chance. He smashed the butt of his rifle into the side of the enemy’s helmet. The Dreamer staggered to the side and Havon thundered a punch into its stomach. The enemy soldier tried to retreat into the passenger bay. A series of bullets hit it in the upper body, spilling its blood onto the hull of the shuttle.
Ahead, Duggan saw dark figures crouched in the depths of the shuttle’s interior. His helmet sensor adjusted in a moment, highlighting the enemy soldiers in orange. He jumped to one side, away from the open doorway. A projectile clipped his shoulder on its way past – it was only a nick. There was blood, but no pain and the spacesuit did its business by sealing tightly over the wound.
“Sorry, sir,” shouted Camacho.
“Shit, watch where the hell you’re shooting!” bellowed Ortiz.
The last of the Dreamers outside the shuttle was killed by a series of well-aimed shots from Duggan’s soldiers. There were five inside and they stayed in the cover of several bulky metallic objects near to the far wall. They kept low and fired randomly, making them difficult to flush out.
Suddenly, one of the enemy moved. He carried a metal plate awkwardly in front of him as a makeshift shield and walked with it, heading to the front of the shuttle. Dozens of shots pinged away, but the enemy soldier was protected by the metal. The shield jerked under the weight of the projectile impacts, yet it was strong enough to keep the soldier behind it safe.
“Shoot his damned fingers!” said Bonner.
“He’s going for the bridge!” said Hendrix.
Duggan could scarcely believe it when the enemy soldier disappeared through an open doorway that led to the front of the shuttle. A moment later, he recognized the sound of the vessel’s gravity drive building in preparation of a take-off.
“This is not going to happen,” he said. He unclipped a grenade and threw it into the shuttle. It detonated, blowing a three-metre hole in the hull and spreading plasma across the interior. The enemy soldiers were killed instantly, torn apart by the blast before the heat of the aftermath could do the same.
Duggan was the first to react and he vaulted onto the boarding ramp. His broken arm buckled under the weight, letting him know it was still mending. With a snarl, he ordered the suit to inject him with a huge burst of pain blockers and rolled onto the ramp. He got to his feet, already aware it was far too late to stop the shuttle’s pilot from either taking off or communicating news of the attack to the Valpian as it flew overhead.
> A large figure stumbled from the cockpit and Duggan raised his gun to fire.
“Hold!” shouted Ortiz at the top of her voice.
“We need to move quickly,” said Link-Tor, his voice weak.
Duggan pushed through the space between the Ghast and the cockpit door. There was a Dreamer there, its helmet ripped off. It thrashed and frothed. Duggan shot it and it lay still.
“Squad One, get those bodies out of sight!” he ordered. “The rest of you, get onboard!”
He looked around the cockpit. It was far too large for the amount of equipment it held. There was a two-person console at the front, with two padded chairs. He dropped onto one of them and scanned the layout. There were functions he recognized, whilst others were unfamiliar and labelled with script his language modules couldn’t comprehend.
“Red-Gulos, get in here,” he said, turning to find the Ghast already entering the cockpit.
“I will assist.”
“Can you fly this?” Duggan asked.
“If it were one of ours, I could fly it,” said the Ghast. “I would not like to risk piloting this one unless you order it.”
Duggan was confident he could handle any kind of vehicle, as long as he knew what controlled what. “I’ll do it,” he said. “Tell me what these three panels do.”
Red-Gulos struggled with the translation. After a pause, he made a few suggestions. Something clicked in Duggan’s head and suddenly, the arrangement of the Dreamer controls made sense.
“If you can fly a warship, you can fly anything,” he said to himself. He waved to the second seat. “Here’s where we prove to the universe that impossible doesn’t exist. In this instance, I’ve got it easy – all I have to do is fly. You, on the other hand, are going to work these comms and do everything you can to convince the Valpian to let us dock.”
“I am glad we are no longer at war, Captain John Duggan,” said the Ghast with another of his rumbling chuckles.
Guns of the Valpian (Survival Wars Book 6) Page 6
