McGuire turned from the helm, “I have an intercept course ready to go, sir.”
“Negative. Ivanov, try to contact them, but I doubt you’ll get any reply. Our friends are the silent type.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And contact Zabek and ask for an update. Yesterday if possible.”
“Should I try to contact the infiltration team?”
Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “No. I don’t want to add to their risks any more than we have already.”
The elevator doors opened, and Zebrova walked out. She looked from station to station, rapidly assessing the situation, and then moved to stand beside Marshall’s chair.
“Trouble, sir?”
“Maybe.”
“I have Ensign Zabek for you, sir, urgent!” Ivanov said.
Racing over to the console, Marshall snatched a headset, “Marshall. Go.”
“We’ve got incoming, sir! Forces closing in on us in at least four places.”
“Can you hold them?”
“Not without help. There’s too damn many of them.”
Turning to Caine, Marshall said, “Round up as many Alamo hands who fought on Jefferson as you can – get them armed, and get them to shuttles. Take charge of the party. I guess we now know what they were trying to divert us for.”
Her eyes widening, Zebrova said, “You plan on using untrained spacemen in assault roles?”
“In defensive roles, Lieutenant.” Gesturing at the asteroid, he continued, “We’ve got to hold as long as we can.”
Running over to the elevator, Caine said, “All in works, sir. I’m on my way down to the hangar deck now, first shuttles will be in the air in five minutes.”
“Make it quick, Deadeye,” he replied as Zebrova took her place at Tactical. “Zebrova, contact Hercules and see if they have anything they are able to throw into the fight. Anything at all would be useful right now.”
“Yes, sir.”
He returned to his command chair, sitting down, and started to worry. A part of him wanted to head down to the hangar deck and take charge of the operation himself, but he didn’t have any ground forces experience and he knew it. Something he probably needed to remedy in the future, but for the present, there was nothing he could do but sit and wait.
“First shuttles taking off now, sir,” Zebrova said a few moments later.
“Ensign Zabek says that her people are now under fire, Captain,” Ivanov reported. “She can hold, but not for long. Sick bay has been alerted to accept casualties.”
“Oh God,” Bryant said.
“What is it?”
The technician turned to him, her face stricken, “Dimensional instability at the near hendecaspace point, Captain. Major event in progress.”
Glancing across at Zebrova, Marshall replied, “How major?”
“Multiple capital ships.”
“Damn.”
The tactical display winked onto the viewscreen, and with a flash of blue light four ships appeared, all of them unfamiliar. The largest, holding station in the middle of the formation, was obviously a carrier, festooned with hatches and launch bays.
“Best guess, three battlecruisers and a carrier, sir,” Zebrova said.
“Ivanov, get our shuttles back on board now. Cease all boarding operations in the hangar deck; we can’t risk having them in the air if we’re going to be in a firefight.”
“Enemy forces will be on us on thirty-one minutes, sir, based on best-guess acceleration profile. Firing window of three minutes, twenty seconds, assuming no deceleration and weapons range matching our own.”
“Thanks for the guesswork, Matsumoto.”
“Enemy shuttles are moving to intercept the formation, sir. They’ll link up with them after the battle,” Bryant reported. “No sign of any other activity in system.”
“What about our craft?” he asked Zebrova.
“Lieutenant Caine’s shuttle is in final approach now, and she has been instructed to proceed immediately to the bridge. We have two fueling shuttles in the air now, both scheduled to land in seven minutes. They could jettison their fuel and land in three.”
Shaking his head, Marshall replied, “We need the fuel.” He already knew the answer to his next question. “Fuel status?”
“With that being brought on board by the shuttles, sir, we should have just sufficient to get us to Innes’ Star.”
A silence swept the bridge; Marshall finally broke it, saying, “Not enough. What about Hercules?”
“About the same, sir.”
“I see.”
“We’re being hailed by the carrier, sir,” Ivanov said. “They want to speak with you, sir. By name.”
“By name?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let's not keep my unknown friend waiting.” Marshall relaxed back in his chair, trying to look comfortable with the situation, and a familiar face appeared on the viewscreen – the Commandant who had led the ground forces at Jefferson, this time sitting at the heart of a bustling bridge.
“Lieutenant-Captain Marshall,” he said. “It is an unexpected pleasure to see you once again.”
“Commandant,” Marshall replied with a curt nod. “Frankly it is a pleasure I could have done without. Am I this time to receive the privilege of knowing your last name?”
“If I were in your position, that would be the least important piece of information I was seeking. I must ask you to surrender your vessel.”
“You know I cannot and will not do that. We are engaged in recovery operations.”
Smiling, the Commandant said, “Recovery operations?”
“Yes. We have recovered the Martian battlecruiser Hercules, and are currently rescuing elements of its crew from the asteroid.”
“And the fuel I see being loaded aboard your vessel?”
“Free salvage; the asteroid was crewed by mutineers from the Hercules, who we are bringing to justice. They will face trial in a Triplanetary court; I would be more than willing to provide you with the eventual transcripts.”
“I’m sure they would make for truly fascinating reading.” The Commandant leaned forward, “I know what sort of a position you find yourself in, seeking out your father after all these years. However, he was imprisoned for committing crimes against the Cabal, I believe several counts of piracy.”
“His ship was stolen from him. I’m simply getting it back.” Marshall smiled, “Once we have completed our current operations, we will naturally be leaving the system and returning home.”
“Captain…”
“And if you make any attempt to stop us, I assure you that you will be facing a fight that you will not soon forget. Alamo and Hercules are both ready for battle.”
“I quite understand that, Captain.” He leaned forward, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “My superiors would like your two ships seized, the crews arrested and detained. I am aware that such an operation would be...expensive, and would wish to avoid it. I will make you an offer.”
“I’m listening.”
“Alamo and its crew will be permitted to return home, and I will even provide you with sufficient fuel for the trip. I know what your current fuel levels are.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“Hercules and its crew, however, must remain. I would be willing to permit your father to return home with you, however.”
Ivanov gasped, and Zebrova turned to him, her eyes piercing. Marshall simply sat on his chair, smiling. He’d thought that the Commandant might have tempted him with the return of Hercules’ crew, simply keeping the ship. This was going to be easier than he thought.
“No deal, Commandant.”
“A pity. I have no wish to engage you in battle, Captain.”
“Then I suggest you maintain station-keeping until we leave the system.”
Chuckling, the Commandant replied, “You have twenty-nine minutes to change your mind, Captain. After that, I fear it will be too late for any debate.”
The image winked out, and all eyes turned to Marshall, questioning him. He sat in his chair, looking around the room at each of them, as the enemy forces continued to close in.
“Hercules calling, sir,” Ivanov said.
“Put them on.”
His father’s face appeared, saying, “I’m not leaving my men, but get out of here while you can.”
“That isn’t an option. I wouldn’t trust that bastard as far as I could throw him. He’s just trying to separate the two ships so he can deal with each of us in turn. We both know that.”
“Then…”
“We’re running for it.”
“We haven’t got enough fuel…,” Zebrova said.
“We can worry about that later. Get those fueling shuttles in as fast as you can. Major?”
“Yes?”
“Prepare to break station. We’re heading for the far hendecaspace point.”
“Right.”
The elevator doors opened, and Caine walked out onto the bridge. After a quick glance at the viewscreen, she raced over to Tactical, sliding into the seat as it was vacated by Zebrova, who walked back over to Marshall's side.
“Nice little trip I had there, sir,” she said. “Shall I go to battle stations?”
“Not yet. Wait until we’re ten minutes to contact.”
“Sir,” Zebrova said, quietly, “We have not got the fuel to get home. The enemy forces will doubtless be pursuing us all the way.”
“Doubtless.”
“Are you expecting assistance at Innes’ Star?”
“No. We’re going to have to work out our own salvation, Lieutenant.”
“What about the espatiers on the asteroid?”
He nodded, turning to Ivanov, “Get me Ensign Zabek.”
“Aye, sir.”
There was a ten-second wait that felt like an eternity, before the ensign replied. The rattle of gunfire was audible in the background, and the hiss of static was punctuated by a loud scream.
“Zabek here. Where’s the reinforcements?”
Taking a deep breath, Marshall replied, “They aren’t coming. Four enemy ships just jumped into the system. We’re going to have to pull out.”
“Sir…”
“No option, Ensign.”
“It’ll take two trips, sir!”
“I know,” he said, quietly. “I know. We’ve got shuttles on the way,” he signaled to Caine, who started to issue the orders, “but they’ll be at least five minutes, and they can’t stay for long. I’m breaking station now.”
“Right, sir. We’ll do our part.”
“Any sign of the infiltration team?”
“None, sir.”
“Very well. Good luck, Ensign.”
“Aye, sir.”
Caine turned to him from her station, “You know that the odds of them getting out are slim.”
“I do. I also know that we can’t take the risk of waiting any longer. Can the fueling shuttles catch us if we move out now?”
Glancing at her board, Caine nodded, “Just. Transit time will stretch to twenty minutes, but they’ll make it.”
“In that case, then, Midshipman McGuire, break station. Get us to the far hendecaspace point as fast as you can.”
“Aye, Captain,” she said. “Transit time will be forty-nine minutes.”
“Enemy will intercept us...at forty-five minutes,” Caine said.
“Four minutes while we get to the hendecaspace point, with all that death raining down on us,” Makala said from the engineering station. “They’ll tear us to pieces.”
“Belay that, spaceman!” Marshall said. “We haven’t lost yet. Alamo and Hercules have a hell of a lot of fight left in them.”
“Ready on the course, sir.”
“Get us there, Midshipman.”
Chapter 20
As he drifted around a corner, pushing off on a wall to speed his passage, Cooper began to hear the sounds of gunfire in the distance; this time it was not a diversion, but a full-scale attack. The corridors were empty, stripped of people – everyone was pushing at their toehold above. His only thought was to get back as quickly as he could, to add his pistol to the fight. An explosion echoed through the corridors, and Orlowski, struggling to keep up, turned to Cooper.
“You know, I’m glad that we’re not encumbered with anything as complicated as a plan of attack.”
“I’ve got a plan.”
“Well, I think I have ‘need to know’ clearance at this point.”
“Head right into the back of their assault shooting at everything that moves.”
“Good plan. I see the genius that got you promoted.”
Kicking off another wall and sending himself into a slow tumble, Cooper quickly checked his pistol, and made sure that he had enough ammunition for the fight; a trio of clips jangled in his pocket. Had he a choice, he’d be going into battle with something that had rather more power to it – he longed for one of the plasma rifles that were safely stowed on Alamo – but you go to battle with what you have, not what you want, he reasoned.
A rattle of gunfire echoed down the corridor, and the faint trace of a scream followed them; he hoped that it was one of the enemy that had just died, not one of his friends, but if the assault was as serious as he feared, he didn’t like the odds. He had to get back, to join his comrades, even if it was just to die with them.
Ahead, a pair of bodies tumbled in the corridor, both of them wearing a khaki uniform he didn’t recognize, bullet holes festooned on their chests. Droplets of blood floated in the air, slowly moving towards the air circulators, and he caught several splatters on his uniform as he passed through it to the waiting shaft. The smell of smoke mingled with blood filled his nostrils; Orlowski started coughing as it reached him.
Reaching out for a handhold, Cooper swung himself to a stop, snatching his friend out of the air with his other hand, sending them both tumbling to the wall. Looking up the shaft, he could see shadows moving, blocking out the lights, and someone above was spending bullets with reckless abandon.
“Ready?” he asked Orlowski, who hefted his pistol.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“On three, then. Three, two, one, now!”
Simultaneously, the two of them swung into the shaft, snatching hold of anything they could to brace themselves, then emptying their clips into the forces above. The only possible advantage they had was surprise, and they meant to use it to the full; even if they didn’t hit anything directly, the bullets were rebounding from the walls, a hail of death filling the air.
Sliding new clips into their pistols, Cooper and Orlowski pushed their way up the shaft, ready to open fire, pushing through four dead and dying bodies. Inside, Cooper breathed a sigh of relief as he saw them all wearing khaki.
“Cooper? That you?” gasped a familiar voice as they emerged.
“Corporal?” He looked out into the corridor, and his eyes widened at the sight; Roberts was floating in a sea of bodies, a rifle held limply in one hand while the other clasped down on a gaping wound on her shoulder, blood slowly seeping into her uniform. He looked around, recognizing far too many of the faces of the dead.
“What happened?”
“Surprise attack. All four entrances at once.” She coughed, and droplets of blood splattered out into the air, swirling and drifting amid the corpses. “They fought like lions, Gabe. You’d have been proud.” Gesturing down the corridor with her rifle, she continued, “Battle still going on. Rest down there.” With a last, deep breath, her head slumped, and her grip on the rifle loosened, sending it dropping down to the floor.
As another burst of shots rang out down the corrido
r, towards the fuel tanks, Cooper drifted forward, closing her eyes with his palm. He snatched her rifle out of the air, and took a clip that was half-out of her pocket.
“Christ, Gabe,” Orlowski said.
“She’d want this. Grab a gun and let’s get the hell out here.” Down at Roberts, he said, “Sleep easy, my friend,” and taking one last look, he turned and pushed away, heading towards the action, determined to help the living if he could.
Snatching a gun out of the air, Orlowski followed him, staring back at the tangle of corpses before returning his attention to the battle. Grim determination on his face, Cooper pushed down the corridor, rifle at the ready, pistol now jammed into a pocket. Two clips didn’t feel like much – and frankly, it wasn’t, especially with one of them half-empty – but if he could make each shot count, at least he might make a difference.
This time they tumbled into a battle that was in progress; Forrest was leading Third Squad, holding their ground against three times the opposition, the occasional crack of a bullet filling the air as one side or another took a shot against an incautious soldier. Cooper and Orlowski, uniquely, were out of cover, and it seemed as if a dozen people realized that at the same time, unleashing a wave of fire at them. Thinking quickly, Cooper pushed off on his friend, sending them both tumbling away, and fired twice at nothing in particular to send him careening off into the wall, knocking the wind from him as he slammed into the rock, but at least providing him with some cover.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Forrest said.
“Didn’t want to let you have all the fun, Sarge!”
Another voice cut in, “We can’t stay here all day, Sarge!”
“Cut it, Duggan. We’re not going to.” He pulled a sphere from his pocket, and with a smile, tossed it into the heart of the room. “Was saving that for a special occasion.”
Cooper recognized what Forrest was throwing just in time for him to raise his hand to his eyes, blocking the flash, but spots still filled his vision, tears welling in his eyes as he furiously blinked to clear them away. Now there were targets, and he was able to take four well-placed shots, sending a pair of enemy troopers flying back out of the battle, leaving a red trail behind them.
Battle of Hercules Page 16
