The Great Space (Scrapyard Ship Book 6)

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “Cap,” Orion piped in, “looks like The Lilly’s taken out two of the Vanguard ships’ big guns. She’s maneuvering to assist with the other four … make that three; we just took out one ourselves.”

  “Our shields are down to twelve percent,” Bristol said.

  “He’s right, Cap. All three of the remaining Vanguard ships are pounding our shields. We’re no match for them.”

  “Down to three percent!” Bristol said, his voice cracking in desperation.

  All eyes were on Jason as he continued to watch the display. “Let’s get out of here. Abandon ship!”

  Even before Jason selected the proper HUD menu for phase-shifting, Orion had phase-shifted all of them away together—three thousand miles out into open space. From his new vantage point, Jason watched as the three black Vanguard warships focused on the ship they’d just evacuated. Its shields were obviously down—mass explosions began erupting from multiple areas on its hull. Seconds later the dreadnaught simply ceased to exist. It had been atomized—one second it was there, the next it was not.

  The Lilly moved in behind the assault team with such stealth, Jason had to do a double take when he saw her advancing behind them. He was being hailed.

  “Gunny, get us all on board.”

  * * *

  Within two minutes Jason entered The Lilly’s bridge. The admiral was seated in the command chair, his familiar baritone barking orders to one of his fleet commanders, whose face was among two others on the overhead display. When the admiral saw Jason enter the bridge he stood, gestured for Jason to take the seat, and continued on with his multiple conversations.

  “Priorities change, Captain Rush. Let me confer with Captain Reynolds and we’ll continue this discussion within the hour.” All three feeds disappeared from the overhead display.

  “Good to see you back in one piece, Jason.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.”

  “The problem is, we still have six dreadnaughts orbiting Earth; three still have their big plasma guns.”

  Perkins gave up his seat at tactical and let Orion sit down.

  Jason was irritated by his father’s lack of appreciation. Not only was there one less dreadnaught orbiting Earth, three of the remaining six were a far lesser threat than they’d been minutes earlier. Were they still capable of destroying an entire planet? Jason was unsure.

  He looked to the logistical display and realized the Vanguard fleet commander may have made a crucial mistake. All six of the huge dreadnaughts now occupied relatively close space, the near side of Earth’s upper orbit.

  “I think, with the help of what remains of the Allied fleet, we can take out the rest of those dreadnaughts in one well-orchestrated attack,” Jason told the admiral.

  “My thoughts exactly, Captain. Although some of my fleet commanders think it far more prudent for them to maintain their present position—hold their current line against the arrival, later today, of Craing fleets 9, 173, and 25.”

  “As you said, Admiral, priorities change. Right now, the dreadnaughts are vulnerable. If the Craing are defending themselves, there’s a good chance they won’t be firing on Earth. My suggestion would be to flank them from both sides, cutting off their ability to maneuver, while pounding them from our current position.”

  The admiral stared at the logistical display and nodded. “That will be our plan.” He brought two fingers to his ear and was back communicating on his NanoCom to his fleet commanders.

  “Orion, prepare all tubes for our fusion-tipped phase-shift missiles.”

  “Aye, Cap.” A quick moment later she said, “Tubes loaded and phase-shift timing configured.”

  Hundreds of small yellow icons moved across space. The remaining four hundred Allied warships, now split into two groups, were almost in position. Jason knew they were taking a monumental risk here. The Vanguard ships could easily still fire down on Earth—perhaps out of desperation, or as a last ditch show of revenge. Since some of the Vanguard dreadnaughts’ big guns were now disabled, they might not be able to completely destroy Earth—atomize her outright, as they’d done to so many other worlds recently—but they certainly could lay the planet to waste, to the point she would be uninhabitable.

  Both the admiral and Orion signaled they were ready.

  “Fire all tubes, Gunny,” Jason ordered.

  Jason heard his father give the command to his fleet commanders to engage the enemy.

  The six cube-shaped Vanguard warships were lined up in Earth’s high orbit, one after another, like black dice. The three dreadnaughts clustered in the middle still had their big guns and immediately came alive, with dramatic results.

  “They know we’re here, Captain. They have a lock on us,” Orion said. Even before she’d finished her sentence, The Lilly was taking fire. The admiral was thrown to the deck, while the others reached for something solid to grab on to.

  “All three of their big guns are concentrating fire on The Lilly, Cap.”

  “Shields?”

  “Dropping fast; down to fifty percent, Cap.”

  The overhead display showed a magnified view of the six, clustered-together, dreadnaughts. The first rounds of The Lilly’s fusion-tipped missiles were closing in on their targets. Within seconds they reached the dreadnaughts’ outer shields. One by one the missiles flashed and disappeared, only to flash into view again—having phase-shifted onto their far side. Explosions—hundreds of them—erupted from the six dreadnaughts’ outer-facing hulls.

  Allied warships fired their plasma cannons toward the now penned in dreadnaughts from both flanks. The combined firepower was taking its toll. Explosions, albeit short-lived in the vacuum of space, were coming with more frequency.

  “Shields down to ten percent, Cap.”

  “Cease fire, Gunny. Helm, phase-shift us ten thousand miles out to our starboard.”

  “Aye, Captain,” McBride acknowledged.

  In a flash, The Lilly changed position. Unless the Craing had a direct visual sighting on her, they were undetectable to the enemy. Two dreadnaughts, one right after the other, blew apart. They’d been closest to the Allied ships.

  “That’ll make our boys cheer,” the admiral said with a grin.

  “And girls too,” Orion added.

  “And girls … I stand corrected, Gunny.”

  The celebration was short-lived. With The Lilly no longer the center of their attention, the three big Vanguard plasma cannons were concentrating on individual Allied cruisers—both heavy and light vessels. With astonishing speed, more and more Allied ships disappeared. Jason tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the increasing Allied death rate from his thoughts.

  “Shields are back up to sixty percent, Cap,” Orion said.

  “Resume firing fusion-tipped phase-shift missiles, Gunny. Take out the center three ships first. Deploy rail and plasma cannons. Fire everything we’ve got until there’s nothing left of them.”

  Jason watched the display, his eyes going back and forth between the logistical and live-view segments. In a rapid flurry of explosions, five dreadnaughts soon became four, then three, and then—with two final colossal explosions—zero.

  The bridge erupted in cheers and hollers—the loudest emanating from the admiral. Pumping his fist in the air, he turned toward Jason: “That’s how you do it. That’s how you win!”

  Jason smiled and accepted the ensuing hug from his father. But Jason’s eyes never left the logistical display segment, and the ship count readout at the bottom of the screen. One hundred and five ships remained. Nearly three hundred warships lost in a matter of minutes—thousands of men and women now dead.

  The admiral stood back and his eyes too fell on the logistical segment’s remaining ship count numbers. “Oh my God.”

  Chapter 23

  Nan screamed through the windshield, “Get up here, Gus!”

  There were several loud screeching sounds, followed by the sound of metal siding crashing to the concrete floor.

  Mollie, who was standing directly t
o her left, opened the cab door and peered down. “Hurry up, Gus! They’re coming. Move faster!”

  Nan could hear footsteps above her. A flat ten-foot overhang attached to the truck bed covered the entire cab, as well as the metal deck leading to it. Nan heard Reese up there pumping the twelve-gauge.

  What she could see of the concrete floor below quickly changed to a tumultuous, writhing mass of hundreds, maybe thousands, of molt weevils. Serpent-like arms, constantly probing, wrapping, and slithering, created a choppy ocean effect. The lone standing spotlight went down but stayed lit. Its wide swath of light moved and played against the high ceiling above and caused dark shadows to rhythmically dance back and forth.

  Gus picked up his pace. He dipped his mop into a five-gallon drum of grease at his feet, quickly swooshed it around, and slopped more of the viscous contents onto steps below him as he ascended upwards. Nan noticed he had neglected coating the metal banisters. A slithering tentacle reached from below and wrapped itself around the bottom railing. Out of the mass of moving bodies, a single torso rose several feet into the air—its other arms probing for any non-slippery surface to grasp on to.

  Both Nan and Mollie reflexively ducked as a thunderous blast came from overhead. Reese had fired down from the overhang, taking off the molt weevil’s arm and driving the creature back into the writhing mass. Gus looked up at Reese and gave him a quick wave. He looked back the way he’d climbed and saw his mistake. The grease was ridiculously slippery; there wasn’t a way for him to go back down with his mop to grease up the railings. Placing the mop higher on the steps, Gus hefted up the bucket, getting a good hold on its edges and, in one fluid motion, swung the bucket outward. Half its contents flew forward into the air in a wide arc. The grease splattered down, covering the stairs and both railings. Satisfied, Gus climbed back up, retrieved his mop, and finished coating the rest of the stairs below him as he rose.

  Gus reached the metal deck and appraised his handiwork. The grease was keeping the molt weevils at bay. He turned and looked at Nan still watching him from the cab. “What do you say I get this thing started and we head on out of here?”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” she answered back.

  Mollie and Nan cleared out of the tight, two-man cab to let Gus inside. He positioned himself behind the wheel breathing rather heavy, and Nan thought she heard him wheezing. She sat down in the passenger seat while Mollie stood in the open doorway.

  “Are you okay, Gus?”

  “Stop worrying about me. I’m fine.” Gus reached for the radio, turned it on, and spoke into the mic. His deep voice was amplified over the truck’s PA outside: “Reese … find something to hold on to. And get yourself in the bed. This is going to be a rough ride.” He replaced the mic and brought his hand over to the center panel and the three-position ignition dial. He looked over at Nan and Mollie. “Here’s hoping the battery isn’t dead.” With that, Gus turned the knob. The big V-24 quad-turbo diesel engine roared to life. Even inside the cab, the noise was near deafening. Mollie’s eyes went wide as she covered her ears. Gus gestured for her to come all the way inside the cab. She sat on her mother’s knee and pulled the door shut behind her. That helped somewhat.

  Next, Gus turned on the four big headlights. The molt weevils below had moved away from the truck, obviously sensitive to either the noise, or vibration, from the big 797F’s engine.

  Nan was surprised how simple the controls were. Not all that different from any other truck. The cab was also fairly comfy, with plush bucket seats and what looked like a high-end, in-dash stereo system. Gus put the truck in gear, let off on the brake, and coaxed the behemoth vehicle forward. He was saying something but his voice was hard to hear over the engine noise: “… and make sure that the truck is always moving when you turn the steering wheel.”

  Nan nodded, not real sure why he was telling her this. She had no intention of driving the thing. The prospect alone scared the hell out of her. As the truck picked up speed, molt weevils tried to scurry out of the way. Those that were too slow, or didn’t understand what was happening, found themselves flattened beneath wheels that supported one hundred and fifty thousand pounds of American-built engineering.

  Mollie saw the wall approaching up ahead and looked over at Gus. “There’s no door there. You know that, don’t you? Stop, Gus, you’re going the wrong way!”

  Gus glanced at Mollie and then at Nan; both looked nervous. Gus changed the seven level transmission selector from second to third and the big truck lurched forward, continuing to gain speed. Several seconds later he shifted into fourth gear, bringing the truck’s speed to fifteen miles per hour. “I’d hold on to something,” Gus yelled.

  The 797F plowed through the south wall of the building without slowing in the slightest. Metal girders snapped like twigs and metal siding sheets tore out of the way as easily as if they were slices of cheese.

  The building-sized dump truck continued forward into the late evening darkness. Gus brought the truck’s gear back down into third, reducing their speed to less than ten miles an hour. They began progressing up a slow rise. Headlight beams illuminated a field of tall, wheat-colored chaparral grass. There were fewer molt weevils here, although every once in a while some skittered out of the way to avoid being flattened. The terrain worsened the further they moved away from the Caterpillar dealership. Gus was forced to gear down to second, reducing their speed to five miles an hour, then drove steady around that slower rate. Nan watched the speedometer, realizing that getting to Cheyenne Mountain would take several hours, at a minimum.

  “You know where we’re going, Gus?” Nan asked.

  “Anyone who lives around these parts knows the way to the Cheyenne Mountain entrance.”

  Nan gestured for Mollie to get off her knee and the two of them left the cab and stood upon the metal grate decking that ran around the front of the truck. “Don’t let go of the railing, Mollie.” Mollie looked up at her mother with an expression that said … I already knew that.

  A rope-like ladder, actually made of small metal-chain links, fell from the overhang above. Reese peered over the edge, nodding to Nan, and said, “Can you take this?” He passed her the twelve-gauge, tossed down a box of shells, and then climbed down the ladder. Nan and Mollie sat on the deck, their feet hanging free over the edge. Reese stepped behind them and checked in with Gus. Nan heard Reese ask him how he was holding up and to let him know when he wanted to be relieved. A moment later, Reese was sitting next to Nan on the deck.

  Nan looked over at him. “You got things organized there okay?” she asked, gesturing toward the truck bed behind them.

  “It’s a big space … even with all the crap we’ve brought along … lots of room left.” He continued to look forward as the truck slowly traversed the slight rise. “You know, this reminds me of my Navy days. I’d stand at the prow of the Arlington, a destroyer, at night and look out at the dark sea, the stars … sometimes a whale or dolphins would crest the surface.”

  “So, you’re a Navy man?”

  “Yep. Petty Officer—”

  Mollie interrupted him. “My dad’s a Navy man, too … now he’s a space man.”

  Both Nan and Reese laughed. “Your dad’s famous, Mollie. Most people know who Captain Reynolds is … just as they know your mom is the secretary of inter-stellar relations, answering directly to the president.”

  Mollie beamed at that and simply nodded.

  “So you work here in Colorado … out of the Denver office?”

  “Yes. Both Agent Clark and myself.” Reese’s expression changed with the realization that she was no longer alive.

  Nan changed the subject. “What were your orders? I mean, pertaining to my daughter and me?”

  “Simple … get you both to Cheyenne Mountain at any cost, including my own life.”

  “We appreciate it, Agent Reese. Do you have a first name or does everybody just call you Reese?”

  She watched the agent squirm at the question. Seeing this rare bit of
vulnerability made her like him that much more.

  “Um, I actually prefer Reese, ma’am.”

  Mollie giggled. “What’s so hard about just telling us your name?”

  Nan watched Reese’s reluctance and wondered what the big deal was. In the darkness she could barely make out his face. She realized he was handsome—muscular build, smooth mocha skin—and he had a young Denzel Washington-thing going on.

  “I’m sorry about your partner,” Nan said, letting him off the hook about his name.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “I’m Nan; you can knock off that ma’am stuff.”

  The truck cleared the field and was leveling out onto a paved, two-lane road. The truck took up both lanes, as well as several feet on each side of the road. Their speed increased and leveled off for a while.

  Nan stared at the road ahead and then leaned forward. “What is that?” Something was up ahead—something long and greenish in color. As they drew closer, Nan realized it wasn’t one thing— but many. Like wrapped-up mummies, illuminated in the wash of the headlights, there were increasing numbers of cocooned bodies. Each lay haphazardly, at odd angles, atop the blacktop. She saw more and more of them off into the visible distance.

  Gus brought the truck to a stop and continued to idle there. The cab door opened and he peered out. He looked perplexed and said, “What should I do? Should I just run over them?”

  Chapter 24

  The Minian’s bridge, for the most part, was looking good. Consoles were reassembled and closed up—tools and test equipment returned to their proper locations. A good amount of progress.

  Ricket knew he was well suited for solitude. Two hundred years as a cyborgenic being probably had a lot to do with that. He was comfortable with his own thoughts, he liked his own company. He enjoyed problem solving—that was his creative outlet.