Assault Squadron - Book One

by D K Evans

  Then one of the blue-helmeted figures turned towards them and pointed to their comrades. Ford raised Aeton’s pistol and fired, buying them a split second to dive through the hatch just before a hail of rounds slammed into the metal behind them. Sub pushed the hatchway closed and jammed a piece of nearby loose piping against the release handle. A few moments later, armored boots started thudding against the far side of the door. Nobody was getting through there in a hurry. Then the pinpoint light of a cutting torch appeared at one corner. The duo turned to run.

  Ford led them deeper into the tunnels, following the signs that pointed towards the flight deck. Behind them, a sudden cacophony of muffled gunshots erupted. The Federation marines had just run into the rebel security troopers they’d passed earlier. Ford kept up the pace and eventually they emerged into a cavernous warehouse storing all manner of spaceship parts and repair tools. The maintenance crew’s domain. The hangar was right above them. As they glanced around, looking for an exit, Hubbard and half a dozen ground crew appeared from a side entrance. They were all in full space suits, ready for anything.

  “Over here!” Hubbard waved them over, “You guys should come with us. The last evacuation shuttle’s leaving soon and we plan to be on it.”

  “How much time do we have?” Ford asked as he wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve.

  “Not long. I wouldn’t want to hang around much more if I was that pilot.”

  “Is there a way out of this place?” Sub deadpanned.

  “Sure,” Hubbard pointed to the far end of the warehouse, “We can take the service elevator straight up to the flight deck.”

  The group jogged along the avenues of shelving and parked machinery until they reached the place. It was less of an elevator and more of a massive launch pad mounted on a huge hydraulic piston. A heavy duty elevator purpose-built for taking ships down to the warehouse for maintenance and then pushing them right back up again. In the middle of it squatted a familiar shape.

  “Is that my CT-34?” Ford asked.

  “Yeah, still shot to shit unfortunately,” Hubbard answered.

  “You guys sure work slow,” Ford teased, trying to break the tension as more explosions shook the station.

  “Well if you didn’t keep breaking them so fast, it wouldn’t be a problem,” Hubbard shot back as he activated the elevator’s control panel. With a whine of motors, the platform started moving.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Ford murmured.

  His hopes were soon dashed by the sound of shuttle engines roaring above them. For a moment, the din was all-consuming. Then in a second, it had faded away.

  “I think our ride just left,” Sub observed.

  “Shit!” Hubbard cursed, “What the hell are we gonna do now?”

  Up above them, a brief exchange of gunfire could be heard before it too fell silent. The Federation marines had taken the hangar.

  “Can you reverse the elevator?” Ford asked.

  “No can do – if I throw the emergency release, it’ll freeze the platform in place and we’ll have to climb up anyway. We’ll be sitting ducks.”

  Ford’s mouth went paper-dry. The elevator was taking them up into a shooting gallery. He looked around for some other option. There had to be a way out. He slammed his fist against the hull of his old ship in frustration. Then he stopped.

  “Is this thing still fueled?” he asked Hubbard.

  “Yeah, it’s barely been touched since you flew back…” a grin spread across his face as he caught the other man’s drift, “But the rear compartment is still open to space. Not suitable for passengers.”

  “You all have your suits on, though?” Ford pointed to the maintenance crew.

  “What about you?” Hubbard asked, gesturing to him and Sub who were still in their plain uniforms.

  “We can stay sealed in the cockpit. What do you say? It’s worth a shot.”

  “Yeah,” Hubbard replied as Ford clambered aboard, glancing up at the fast-approaching top of the elevator shaft, “What difference does it make anyway? Death by Federation. Death by your flying skills. It’s all the same, right?”

  “That’s the spirit,” he replied as he started the ship’s power plant, “It’s all about staying optimistic.”

  The maintenance crew strapped themselves in place in the cargo hold whilst Sub clambered forward into the cockpit and sealed the door behind him. Ford leaned forward and gazed up through the canopy, watching the hangar get closer and closer.

  “All aboard?” he asked through the radio.

  “Yup. You do realize this is a spaceship and not a train, right?” Hubbard chided.

  Ford just shook his head, amazed at how the older man’s sense of humor was still working at a time like this. He tested the engines by giving them some thrust. They roared to life in response and the ionized exhaust plume burnt a scorch mark on the shaft behind them. They seemed to be working well enough, he reasoned. He ran his eye over the other readouts. Life support was failing, the landing gear was still sticky and the communications were on the fritz. No big deal, he thought, all he had to do was get them off this station and out to the carrier before it also left without them. He revved the engines again. Whoever was waiting for them above sure as hell knew they were coming.

  They crested the lip of the elevator shaft and emerged into the hangar. The sight was even more dramatic that Ford had been expecting. Burning equipment lay all around, the walls were peppered with bullet holes, Rebel corpses littered the floor. At the far end of the cavernous room, a line of blue armored marines were spread out like a firing squad, fingers on the trigger and just waiting for the order. Amongst them was one solitary figure in Rebel armor. Ford didn’t have to be able to see through the faceplate to know who it was. Aeton. Ford’s hand tightened around the control stick and his finger grazed against the trigger. He glanced at the cannons’ ammo readouts. Only 130 rounds left. Enough for a one and a half second burst, he reasoned. Then out of the corner of his eye, he spotted it. Two Federation marines sneaking amongst the rubble and loading a rocket into its launcher as they went.

  “Time to leave,” Sub grunted, following his gaze.

  Ford reacted instantly. With one hand, he squeezed the trigger and put the ship into a spin and with the other, he rammed the throttle forward. The landing gear shrieked as they were scraped off the deck and the cannons roared into life, flinging their remaining rounds around the hangar in an ultra-fast burst of fire. The marines scattered as rounds punched into their ranks, vaporizing a couple instantly and sending the rest scrambling for cover as the rocket flew wide of its mark and tore into the far wall. Ford was pinned back into his seat as the CT-34 whipped round and accelerated out of the hangar, a few sporadic gunshots pinging off its armor before they plunged into space.

  He flew without using the instruments as they skimmed around the curvature of the station and the carrier came into view, moving away from them at slow speed. Off to their right, Sub watched as more boarding pods crashed into the surface of the Rebel base. A few of the Federation’s sinister oblong assault ships fired at them as they moved into open space, but most kept their guns trained on the station.

  “Ah dammit! I think I’ve been shot,” Hubbard moaned over the radio.

  “Is it serious?” Ford asked as he dialed in a course to intercept the carrier.

  “He’s hit in the leg, but his suit’s ruptured,” one of the techs said.

  Ford flipped on the camera in the cargo compartment and could see the occupants struggling to close the gap in Hubbard’s suit. A small plume of oxygen was spraying from a small, ragged hole in the material. Hubbard probably had only a few minutes until his supply ran out.

  “Hold on!” Ford warned as he diverted more power to the engines. The craft juddered and whined as they accelerated. The carrier was growing bigger and bigger as they approached. Until now, Ford had only seen it from a distance and it had always looked tiny to the naked eye. But long-range patrol ships were usua
lly bulky, and this repurposed Federation vessel was no exception. The crude array of docking rings that had been welded to each of its sides each held a fighter or bomber, either a Rebel craft or one of Cheng’s. Like barnacles on some kind of patchwork whale, they only made it look bulkier. Ford zipped past the ship’s engines and started looking for a free spot.

  He found one towards the prow. Faces pressed against an un-shuttered window in the carrier’s hull watched them approach as he drew level with the docking ring. A few seconds later, and Ford activated the docking procedure as Sub silently watched him working the controls. The CT-34 thudded into place as the connecting clamps engaged and a hatch opened in the cargo bay ceiling. One the camera screen, they watched the maintenance crew bundle Hubbard up through the hatch and into the airlock. They waited in silence until the radio squawked back into life.

  “He’s ok,” one of the crew told them, “He’s delirious and he’s lost a fair bit of blood, but he’ll be alright.”

  “Great,” Ford sighed, “Just don’t forget that we don’t have suits, so we’re still stuck in this cockpit until some comes to get us.”

  “Understood. We’re on it.”

  Above them, they watched as a hatch opened in the side of the carrier and a flexible rescue tunnel extended out to meet them. A group of astronauts carefully lowered it into place on the cockpit canopy, obscuring their view. The sound of power tools emanated through the hull as the tunnel was secured in place. Another astronaut appeared inside the tunnel, trailing a power saw along behind him.

  “Okay guys, this next part might be pretty nerve-wracking,” the radio said, “We’re going to cut a hole in the canopy to let you out. Just keep calm and follow the tunnel into the ship. It’s fully pressurized, so no worries.”

  “Understood,” they replied as they shifted back in their seats.

  “That was good flying,” Sub murmured as the guy outside got to work, “You saved those people.”

  “Saved you, too,” Ford said, trying not to think about the endless void that would be just on the other side of the escape tunnel.

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “So how about some payment?”

  “Payment?” Sub asked quizzically, “Aren’t we comrades? Brothers in arms or something like that?”

  “I don’t even know your name, man.”

  “That’s also true. So what is it you want from me?”

  “Don’t play dumb,” Ford hissed, “Enough of this bullshit – I want some real answers.”

  Sub just nodded calmly as the saw began to shower them with sparks.

  -

  “The last two guys are on board, ma’am.”

  “Good,” Ellery looked away from her command readout and across the bridge. Behind the carrier, the station was well and truly overrun. The bombardment had stopped and the only signs of life were the circling assault ships and the occasional explosion from the station’s surface. Distant flashes in the darkness indicated Federation capital ships arriving in the vicinity, their jump drives bleeding off energy in quick bursts of heat and light. It would be best for everyone if the Rebels took the opportunity to get as far away as they could. She shook her head and turned towards the helmsman.

  “Set a course for the first staging point.”

  “Yes, Captain. Should I plot a second waypoint for after we arrive?”

  “No. There are still some decisions to made about that.”

  “Roger that.”

  Ellery nodded softly as she saw a message pop up on her readout that Ford’s empty ship had just been cut loose. A few moments later, she saw the wrecked CT-34 go drifting past the bridge in a slow-motion cartwheel. She narrowed her eyes and stalked across the bridge to the exit.

  “The last two men to be brought on board,” she murmured to one of the guards, “Have them brought to my office.”

  “Yes, Captain,” the man smartly saluted and turned to go.

  She was going to make sense of this situation if it was the last thing she ever did. There were too many uncertainties and not enough truth. A few moments later, the carrier’s jump-drive sprang to life. Her mind was racing as she left the bridge so she didn’t bother to admire the view as the ship jumped out of the Guranul system. It was old hat anyway, she thought, and she felt too old to listen to much more bullshit.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ford had been through his share of dressing-downs in his time as a pilot, but in this instance, Ellery was starting to get into the top five most expletive-filled rants he had heard. After explaining at length what had happened with Aeton, he’d gone over their escape from the station and Hubbard’s injury. It was especially hard to find a silver lining to the events.

  Reg Duuven had joined them in Ellery’s office, remaining silent throughout the conversation. It was his right, of course. He had after all been the one who had stolen and refitted the ship they were standing in at that very moment. But Ford couldn’t help get the impression that the scar-faced engineer’ pride had been somewhat wounded by Ellery’s abrupt commandeering of his prize possession.

  “I still can’t believe that Aeton would sell us out,” Ellery blinked as she thumped her fist on the captain’s table, “All these years and he turns on us just like that? What did we ever do to drive him away?”

  “From the sound of what he said, he’d been working for the Federation for much longer than any of us would expect,” Ford offered, “He could have been with them all along.”

  “A fucking mole right under our noses! Think of the information he could have gotten access to! The only thing that confuses me is why he didn’t have us taken down sooner.”

  “Oh I don’t know if I’m all that confused,” Ford icily stared at Sub, who had taken up a chair in the corner of the room and was watching them with an idle expression.

  “What do you mean?” Ellery asked.

  “I mean that all of this trouble revolves around our new friend here. He just happens to show up at the exact time that things go to shit? I don’t think so,” Ford paced over to the shuttered window and sat down on the sill, “Aeton was a high-level asset. A goldmine of information. There would have to be a damn important reason for the Federation to have him blow his cover like he did.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the arrival of someone who knows too much,” he continued, still staring at Sub, “Someone who has to be killed at all costs. Someone who knows something that could badly hurt the Federation, but for some reason, they don’t want to share it.”

  The silence could have been cut with a knife. With all eyes in the room on him, Sub smiled and leisurely rose from his chair.

  “That’s a good speech,” he stated evenly, “And I must admit, you’ve made some decent guesses. But it’s just that: guesswork.”

  “So why don’t you fucking illuminate us then?” Ford growled through gritted teeth.

  Sub spread out his arms and shrugged, “Fine. If you want the truth, then here it is.”

  “I’m all ears,” Ellery said, folding her arms.

  “This facility I’ve told you about, the one that’s intercepting your communications, it’s no regular listening post.”

  “I’d already gathered that much,” Ford said impatiently.

  “Right, well you may be surprised to learn that the Federation has no interest in actually reading your messages in order to disrupt your operations,” Sub continued, “There’s simply no need to.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “There’s a black project,” Sub looked at each of them in turn, “Funded by a secret budget within the Federation intelligence services. They’ve constructed a set of prototype equipment that can trace and isolate signals across vast distances. For the past few months, they’ve been able to monitor the broadcast locations of transmissions throughout their territory. So every time somebody sends a message from somewhere they shouldn’t be, they might as well be striking a match in a darkened room. That’s why they’ve been able to ambush your
guys.”

  “How is that even possible?” Ford raised his eyebrows.

  “I’m not privy to many details,” Sub replied, “But long distance communications use a similar method to that of a jump drive, right? And so they have a sub-space signature, just like a ship jumping into a system. But a jump is just one isolated ‘bang’ – too fast to reliably track the ship in question unless you’re close. A transmission on the other hand, is sustained, with more than enough time to figure out the source location.”

  “Right.”

  “So if you have an antenna that can sift through all the junk sub-space background static, then you can measure distances and directions. Plus they have real-time data coming in from listening posts all around Federation space. And in the right hands, that data can prove very valuable indeed.”

  “Bullshit!” Duuven spoke for the first time, “If any of that was true, then they wouldn’t bother with communications. They’d get to work on tracking jump drives. We’d have nowhere to hide at all.”

  “Well now you understand my employers’ concerns,” Sub said gravely, “This technology has the potential to seriously upset the balance of power in known space. Right now, your rebellion is just a guinea pig. A test run whilst the Federation works out the kinks and develops the tech further. But after that? Who knows what they could be planning.”