“Everyone out! Get moving!” Forrest said, “Back into the corridor, before they can recover.”
Cooper didn’t need to be told twice; this battle wasn’t going to end well unless they could get away, and he kicked back into the corridor, spotting a figure moving about. He risked a shot, but it ducked behind one of the floating corpses, using the dead as cover. Forrest, up by his side, shot the corpse with a bullet at maximum velocity; the bullet passed right through and caught the man with the gruesome idea of cover in the chest.
Six espatiers flew down the corridor, Forrest holding on to bring up the rear. Instinct caused Cooper to raise his hand to the ceiling, slowing his progress and twisting him around to help the old sergeant; Forrest turned to him with a smile.
“Bucking for a promotion, kid? This is my job.”
The two of them fired into the darkness, sending them flying back towards the survivors of the squad, shooting at anything that looked like it was moving. It seemed that their enemies had elected to pursue the better part of valor, and wait for them to withdraw before securing the fuel tanks. Orlowski grabbed Cooper by the shoulder, bringing him to a stop close to the shaft.
“Come on, come on, let’s get out of here!” he said, swinging himself up and out of view. Cooper snatched at the sergeant, slowing him just enough to allow him to grab a handhold.
“Right, move it,” Forrest said, and Cooper hastened to comply, but before he could slide into the shaft he saw a trio of enemy troopers heading in their direction, rifles at the ready. Fire crackled from the barrels as they advanced, shards of rock tumbling from the air; this group had compensator jets to stabilize them.
Neither Forrest nor Cooper were so equipped; the old veteran knew exactly what he was doing when he opened fire, sending him tumbling back towards the fuel tanks, where a dozen people waited with guns and a determination to end his life. The last sight Cooper had of him was the sergeant tumbling down the corridor, yelling a battle cry as he fired off the remainder of his clip; he closed the hatch behind him and hastened up to the next level.
At the top, Orlowski was waiting for him with Knight, both of them with rifles drawn to cover him. Cooper clasped Knight on the shoulder, then looked back down the shaft, pausing for a second to catch his breath.
“Where’s Forrest?” Knight said.
Looking up, Cooper shook his head, “He didn’t make it.”
“Christ,” Orlowski said. “Zabek’s up the corridor with the rest of the platoon. What’s left of it.”
A strange crackling sound began to ring up the shaft, and Cooper glanced down; the hatch cover was glowing red, a white line around the outside; he quickly closed the top hatch and pushed off down the corridor.
“They’re burning through, and I think we’re going to have company soon,” he said.
Following him, they moved through the deceptively quiet corridor; the battle hadn’t yet touched this level, and a few technicians were still packing up equipment as though they had all day to catch the next shuttle.
“Hurry up,” Cooper yelled as he flew past. “If you can’t pack it up in ten seconds, leave it! Most of that crap will have to stay behind anyway.”
“Mr. Quinn will have my head if…,” one of the technicians began to reply, but Cooper cut him off, “I’ll have your balls if you don’t! Get moving! People are dying to buy you this time.”
Zabek looked up as the three of them approached, her blood-splattered face cracking a smile, by the looks of it for the first time that day. She peered behind them, then the smile faded.
“Forrest?” Cooper shook his head, and she continued, “We’ve got a shuttle docking for the civilians right now. Once they’re loaded, it's our turn on the next.”
“One shuttle for all of us?” Knight said.
With a sad frown, Zabek replied, “I think there will probably be some empty seats on that shuttle, Private. Right now, we’ve got to hold this ground long enough to get the non-combatants away. Anything after that is gravy.” She shook her head, then continued, “I’ll send you what’s left of First Squad to cover you, Cooper. You’ve got this corridor; Brown’s taken Third Squad and is holding the over.”
“We’ll hold the line, ma’am.”
“I know,” she said, pushing back down the corridor as the technicians scurried past, clutching cases to their chests as they raced towards the shuttle. One of them – the one who had talked back to Cooper – briefly turned.
“I’m sorry, Corporal.”
“This is what we do, Spaceman,” he replied, turning back to the corridor. Almost to himself, he repeated, “This is what we do.”
A loud clang echoed through the corridor, and Cooper realized that the first shuttle had docked. He remembered briefly that Barbara was on alert status today; he hoped that if she was flying, she was on this shuttle rather than the next. The odds of this shuttle getting away were excellent; they’d managed to buy sufficient time for that. The next one was going to have a far harder time. A curl of smoke started to rise from the hatch at the far end of the corridor – the battle would be rejoined in a matter of seconds. Behind him, three more troopers moved up, the remnants of First Squad.
“Take cover, and fire at any targets.”
“What if one of ours…”, one of them began, but Cooper shook his head.
“It won’t be. Trust me.”
He settled in to wait, hoping that the hatch would hold, and then the lights went out. Amid the tumbling and cursing, he reached into his pocket, sliding on a pair of night-vision goggles. It took them a second to come on, and then his world became a sea of eerie greens and blacks, figures shimmering in the night.
“Get your goggles, on, damn it, and get back into cover! Most of you are sitting ducks!”
“What the hell happened to the lights, Corp?” an unseen voice yelled.
“How the hell should I know? Or care? They’re out and they’re staying out. Get into your damn firing positions!”
He turned back to the corridor, pushing himself hard against the wall, testing his purchase with his feet, hoping it would hold when he began to fire. The smoke was becoming a torrent, billowing into the corridor; it was going to provide good cover to anyone emerging.
“Fire on my command,” he said, leveling his rifle to his shoulder. As the hatch burst open, he coldly continued, “Fire.”
The rifle kicked back at him as he pulled the trigger, shooting into the cloud of smoke; the goggles were having serious trouble, so he fired where he assumed an enemy would be emerging. At least one of his bullets hit something, and a dark shape began to tumble around the corridor, but now their shots were being returned, raking fire coming at them. He heard a shout to his rear, one of his men wounded or dying, but all he could do was keep firing into the night.
“Hold the line!” he said, pulling the trigger again. Shapes were moving forward, advancing behind tall metal shields to obscure them. They might have bulletproof protection, but they weren’t recoil proof; Cooper fired a pair of shots at the rim of one of the shields, sending it tumbling, then managed a satisfactory shot at the now-exposed figure, who fell back into the advancing group.
More shots cracked around Cooper, and another of his squad slumped down into the corridor, falling prey to another trio of shots; he didn’t know whether the soldier had been careless or unlucky, but he was paying for it with his life. Another wave of troopers burst out of the shaft, advancing on their position, and he slid in another clip of ammunition – his last.
“Keep firing!”
“Running low, Corp,” Knight said.
“Me too,” another, unfamiliar voice replied.
“Keep firing, damn it!”
Another grinding noise echoed down the corridor; the first shuttle was away, and the second would be heading in to pick them up – whatever was left of the platoon now at least had a ride home. Of cours
e, their foes knew that too, and redoubled their efforts to clear them from the corridor, the firing rate increasing. Knight yelled out in agony, tumbling back down the corridor clutching his shoulder, easy prey for another bullet.
“Going to be one hell of a last stand, Gabe,” Orlowski said.
“I don’t do last stands,” he replied. He only had a few rounds left, and he quickly spent them to keep the enemy pinned down while he changed back to his faithful pistol. At least the recoil was reduced, though he got the impression that the shielded group wouldn’t be too afraid of it. They were now only about fifty meters away, and he braced himself for hand-to-hand combat; it would be a futile gesture at best, but he wasn’t going to go down without one last fight.
“Fall back! Back to the airlock corridor!” Zabek’s voice cried out, the sweetest words he had ever heard. A loud slam heralded the docking of the second shuttle.
“Everyone get going, I’ll cover!”
Neither of the two survivors of his command argued, pushing themselves back down the corridor while he fired his pistol wildly, trying to at least slow down the advancing group. He counted to ten, then pushed out into the corridor, firing his last three shots in quick succession to propel him away, bullets cracking all around him. He tumbled into Zabek while he was reloading his pistol.
“We need to hold, Third Squad’s still engaged!”
Cooper glanced down the tunnel at their open airlock, white light almost seeming to invite him in, but he turned back to the officer and nodded.
“Take positions! Covering fire!”
Zabek tossed him a rifle as he settled into his new position. At least a dozen foes were advancing towards him, all behind bulletproof shields. He opened fire, unleashing a series of short bursts, bullets pinging against metal in a series of wild ricochets. Orlowski, on his right, followed suit, and the corridor echoed with gunfire from both sides.
Grunting from the rear heralded the arrival of Third Squad – two troopers, one of them clutching his arm. Shots rang out after them; now they were caught on both sides, forces advancing remorselessly on their position. The wounded man dived into the corridor, the remaining survivors, now numbering just seven, still trying to hold them off.
“They’ll be on us in seconds if we stop firing!” Duggan yelled.
“On my call, break and dive for the shuttle. Last one in closes the airlock,” Zabek said. “Two, one, now!”
It was every man for himself. Throwing his rifle away for extra momentum, Cooper dived down the corridor towards the airlock, trying to duck and weave, bracing himself for what was to come. Seven tangled figures bounced off each other in the scramble for safety, and after just a few seconds, gunfire was added to the mix.
Shots rang out, and in that crowded environment, it was almost impossible for them to miss; the wounded trooper gasped his last breath, catching himself on a dangling cable and blocking the corridor for a merciful second while the rest pushed on. The airlock grew closer and closer, and then the fire resumed.
Cooper yelled as a bullet smashed into his leg, but he was able to keep a straight course, and the extra boost actually pushed him further into the airlock, ahead of the rest. The pain seemed to vanish for a second, as if his brain had decided it had more important things to worry about. To his side, Orlowski was tumbling, semi-conscious, his right foot a tattered ruin.
Before he quite realized it, he was in the passenger cabin of the shuttle, bouncing back against the wall and almost tumbling back into the corridor before he reached up with a hand to brace himself. Orlowski had dived in at about the same time, Duggan giving him a final push, another trooper tumbling in behind him. He looked back into the carnage, the only figure remaining Zabek, who was pushing past the dead body of one of her doomed command.
As he watched, her forehead exploded as a bullet passed through it, and her now-lifeless form slammed into the wall. Duggan finally closed the door, and the shuttle detached, Cooper looking around the room in horror. Out of twenty-five troopers, there were just four of them left alive. Only four. His leg was starting to scream in agony, but he pushed the pain down for a moment, reaching over to the communicator on the wall.
Barbara’s voice rang out, “Cooper!”
“Get me Alamo,” he said, his vision swimming. “Get me the Captain.”
“Gabe…”
“Now.”
A few seconds later, Captain Marshall’s face appeared, and with his last reserves, Cooper, said, “Lance-Corporal Cooper reporting.” The image began to blur, and his eyes started to lose their focus, “I’m sorry, sir.” He felt a hand on his back, voices echoing in the cabin, and then everything faded out.
Chapter 21
“I’m sorry, sir,” Cooper said, as he fainted dead away on the viewscreen. Another trooper pulled him back, and the channel went dark. Marshall sat in his chair, eyes fixed forward; silence reigned supreme on the bridge. The elevator door slid open; Beta Watch coming on duty to provide fresh eyes to the battle. Steele, leading her crew onto the bridge, looked around.
“What is it?” she said.
Ivanov, pulling his headset off, looked up with tears in his eyes. “We just lost the station. Twenty dead or missing.” He paused, taking a deep breath, “Ensign Zabek is confirmed dead. She died just short of the shuttle.”
Marshall turned, walking over to Steele; she and Zabek had been involved for years, since the Academy; her face was a mask of white, but she simply nodded, and walked over to take Matsumoto’s place at the duty officer’s station.
“Sub-Lieutenant,” Marshall said, “You don’t have to do this.”
“Michelle, I can handle the watch,” Matsumoto said.
Steele turned to face the captain, “Sir, I can handle this. Unless you really wish otherwise, I’d like to take my station.”
Zebrova moved forward, but before she could say anything, Marshall said, “Permission granted. Take your post.”
“Aye, sir.” With perfect poise, she slid into her station, running her hands across the controls to prepare herself for the battle to come; around her, the rest of her team took their positions, exchanging a few words with their counterparts on the previous shift. Ivanov lingered at the door.
“Twenty dead, sir. Twenty.”
“Or missing, spaceman.”
“Yes, sir,” he said with a near-whisper as he walked off the bridge.
“Weitzman,” Marshall said, “I’d like a full report from the shuttle.”
“We’ve got it, sir. Four survivors on board, three wounded, two of them critical. Private Duggan is putting together a briefing pack for you now.”
“I want to see them as soon as they land.”
“They aren’t coming here, sir. Spaceman Bradley is heading for Hercules.”
“Why?”
“It’s the nearest ship, sir.”
“I see.” Marshall stood up, looking over at the tactical display once again. Another ninety-five minutes of cruising to the hendecaspace point, then a furious battle to get out of the system, fighting the four approaching ships. “Lieutenant Zebrova, you have the conn.”
She looked at him, frowning, “Aye, sir.”
“Alert me at ten minutes to contact.” He walked around the room into his office, sitting down behind his desk. Picking up a datapad, he called up the espatier personnel files, starting with that of Ensign Zabek. The systems were quick off the mark today; already the ‘Deceased’ flash was winking across the screen. He’d lost people in combat before, but somehow this was different. Always there had been someone to blame, someone to rage against for putting him into an impossible situation. This time the responsibility had been his, only his.
Dropping the datapad back to the desk, he sat staring at the starscape. The asteroid was mercifully out of sight; he didn’t think he could have looked at it. Not that Alamo was much better off; even if they man
aged to jump out of the system, they didn’t have enough fuel to get home. He reached into a drawer on his desk, looking at the bottle within, tempted beyond belief to have a glass.
Slamming it too, he clenched his fist, putting up a schematic of the battlecruiser behind them. The image was continually updating as the sensors gathered more data, building a better picture of the approaching foe. No sign of a laser, but there were a pair of what looked suspiciously like particle beams mounted at the front – he didn’t dare let Alamo get too close to those. Missile ports, at least ten of them, but they wouldn’t have an opportunity to try the same enveloping maneuver they had at Jefferson. This was going to be an old-fashioned battle, a missile-and-countermeasures duel.
He sighed, reaching for the datapad again, looking at the eager face of Zabek staring back at him. He remembered when that image had been taken, back on Jefferson after she’d been promoted. It seemed so long ago.
The door chimed, and after a moment, he opened it; Caine and Zebrova filed into the room, each stealing a glance at each other as they walked in, taking positions standing either side of the desk. Marshall glanced out at the bridge as the door closed; Matsumoto was sitting in the command chair.
“I think we need to talk, sir,” Zebrova said.
“Damn right, Danny,” Caine said, perching on the side of the desk.
Marshall looked from one to another, smiling, “Ladies, if you’ve decided this is a good time for some sort of menage-a-trois, we’ve only got about an hour.”
Sighing, Zebrova said, “Frankly, Captain, we have some concerns about you.”
“Oh?”
Caine nodded, saying, “Let’s just say that you don’t appear to be yourself. Hiding in your office with a battle taking place in an hour isn’t your normal behavior.”
“Do you think me incompetent to command?”
“Of course not, sir,” Zebrova said.
“Really? Then perhaps you ought to be paying closer attention, Lieutenant. It might have escaped your notice, but twenty people under my command just died. Twenty people. At the best we can hope that they were captured, and that the Cabal will give them decent medical care. How many widows, orphans and grieving mothers is that?”
Battle of Hercules Page 17
