God Ship (Obsidiar Fleet Book 3)

by Anthony James

  “Roldan, you’re coming with me across to the far side.” He pointed to the blank wall where the corridor ended. It continued for a metre past the stairwell, giving them somewhere to take cover.

  Webb knew his stuff. “Get back,” he said.

  Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he stepped out with the plasma tube warming up. The rocket sped away and exploded against the uppermost stairs. Without adequate room for the plasma blast to expand, it roared through the stairwell, casting bright light on the walls.

  McKinney didn’t hesitate. “Go!” he urged, pushing himself away from cover.

  Roldan followed a split second later and the two of them made it to the opposite side of the stairwell without being hurt. A glance upwards told McKinney that anything on the stairs when the rocket came had been completely incinerated.

  The two men arranged themselves awkwardly. Roldan remained in a crouch and McKinney leaned over him. Across from them, Garcia kept low and Webb leaned casually on the upright tube of his plasma launcher, like he was propping the bar up at his favourite watering hole.

  “Incoming,” said McKinney.

  More Vraxar appeared to replace those killed in the explosion. With assistance from the zoom on his visor sensor, McKinney saw these ones were more Estral. What was presumably once a noble, if bloodthirsty, race, was now reduced to acting as suicide troops for the Vraxar.

  The sadness of it wasn’t lost on McKinney, though it didn’t distract him from the task. The Vraxar came and he did his best to shoot as many of them as possible. They carried their usual stubby hand cannons, which they weren’t able to fire accurately from the stairs. Consequently, a great number of the aliens died without offering a meaningful response. After three or four minutes, their bodies crowded the stairs and fouled the legs of the others.

  “If they get their hands on any explosives, we’re screwed,” said Garcia.

  It was an obvious fact, but Garcia was the first person willing to say it out loud.

  “Just keep shooting,” said McKinney. “We’ll worry about explosives when they come.”

  The Vraxar adapted. Where they’d started out with a full-frontal assault on the stairs, now they stayed in cover at the top and attempted to pick off the soldiers. Their aim was little better than earlier and most of their slugs struck the ceiling fifty metres from the bottom. Nevertheless, McKinney found it harder to score kills with the Vraxar darting in and out of cover.

  In a way, it was a good thing, since McKinney was looking to buy time for the others to escape. He was aware that the chances of his own escape were considerably diminished by staying here, though he hadn’t entirely given up on life. He didn’t dwell on it and focused his mind and aim. With a series of perfectly-directed shots, he killed a couple of Vraxar and drove others back into cover.

  The standoff continued for a few minutes. The retreating soldiers were less than two thousand metres from the entry point and McKinney dared to think they might escape. Webb was getting bored with his lack of involvement and he fired two further rockets up the stairs. There was no way to be sure if it was an effective use of the rocket tube or not, though McKinney didn’t ask him to hold fire.

  It was inevitable the Vraxar would eventually bring their own explosives to the engagement. McKinney was in the process of leaning out to take a shot when he caught a glimpse of something coming in fast. He threw himself away from the edge, pulling Roldan with him.

  “Incoming!” he shouted.

  Garcia and Webb also tried to shield themselves. There was no way any of them could act quickly enough to avoid a rocket and McKinney expected to die in the coming blast. Luckily, the Vraxar with the rocket launcher was no better an aim than those with the guns. The weapon struck the ceiling and its dirty flames roiled downwards, spilling around the corners and engulfing the four soldiers. At this distance from the blast, the force of the explosion was lessened significantly and although it was sufficient to damage the protective surface polymers on the spacesuits, the men survived.

  McKinney lifted his head, ignoring the warnings on his visor HUD. His spacesuit was blackened and it smoked in places, but it was holding together. One thing he couldn’t be sure of was whether or not it would survive another close-range explosion. The odds weren’t good.

  “Webb, give us some cover!”

  “On its way.”

  The rocket from Webb’s launcher flew off in response. McKinney didn’t spend time gawping and ran across the opening, Roldan two steps behind.

  “Move!” he shouted, dragging Garcia roughly to his feet.

  Garcia got the message and broke into a sprint with the others. Webb took one final look into the stairwell and then followed. The floor was solid and their footsteps thudded hard off the surface. McKinney experienced a feeling of exhilaration as the air filled his lungs and his body responded to his command that it run ever faster.

  “We ain’t gonna make it,” panted Roldan.

  “Yes, we are,” said Garcia, his legs pumping and his rifle clunking off his repeater with each stride.

  McKinney tried to guess at their chances. If the Vraxar came down the stairs at their fastest speed, they would be at the bottom long before the four soldiers reached safety. Even if they approached tentatively, they would still reach the bottom long before the soldiers reached safety. At that stage, it would be easy enough for them to shoot the fleeing men in the back.

  “Corporal Evans, please report.”

  “We’re making good progress, sir.”

  “We’re retreating. At speed.”

  “Yes, sir – I can hear that.”

  “How long until you reach the entry point?”

  “Four minutes. The comedown off this adrenaline is going to be a killer.”

  “You’re not going to make it, Corporal.”

  “We can’t move any faster than we are.”

  How much longer until they reach the bottom of those steps? McKinney asked himself. Two minutes, three tops.

  He swore. “We’ll cover you, Corporal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Without slowing his pace, McKinney spoke to the men with him. He panted the words out, though the high dose of battlefield adrenaline he’d taken provided near-unlimited stamina. “I’m going to count down three minutes. When the time runs out, we’ll stop where we are and hold position.”

  “There’s no cover, sir,” said Roldan.

  “The rest of the men haven’t made it yet.”

  “Have they stopped to take a crap or something? They should’ve been on the shuttle by now.”

  “We can ask them about it later. One hundred and seventy seconds and then we stop.”

  “The recruitment officer never told me about this when I signed on the line,” said Garcia.

  “Let me guess? He told you women love a man in uniform?”

  “How did you know?”

  With the adrenaline burning like an unquenchable fire in his veins, McKinney still had the energy to laugh. The sound hadn’t faded from his lips when Evans’ words about the aftereffects came back to him. When the drugs wore off, they’d feel like crap and it would take a week of bedrest to recover. If he was still alive, he swore he’d welcome the pain.

  Chapter Eleven

  The counter ticking down in one corner of McKinney’s HUD reached zero. The three minutes felt like an eternity during which the end of the corridor came no closer, as though they were running on a conveyor belt designed to match their exact speed and ensure they made no progress towards their goal.

  “Time’s up,” said McKinney.

  He stopped running and wheeled around, raising his gauss rifle as he did so. It wasn’t a moment too soon – his movement sensors highlighted a shape emerging from the bottom of the stairs. McKinney took aim and fired. There was a slight tremble in his muscles and the first volley of three bullets missed. Garcia helped him out and the Vraxar was thrown to the floor.

  With nothing to hide behind, the four men stayed prone near
to the walls in the hope it would make them less visible. Another Vraxar appeared. This time McKinney’s aim was better and he put two slugs into its chest and another through its skull. He struggled to bring his breathing under control and waited for the onslaught.

  The anticipated flood didn’t happen at once and for a few seconds, no more Vraxar emerged into sight.

  “Maybe they’ve gone a different way,” said Webb.

  “Yeah, right.”

  Then, they came. At first, a head appeared around the edge of the stairwell. The soldiers fired a fusillade of bullets towards it. Somehow, the Vraxar survived and it retreated into cover. McKinney’s movement sensors illuminated other shapes, clustering near to the bottom of the steps. He fired and thought he’d caught one of the aliens in the arm or shoulder.

  Three Vraxar jumped across the corridor and laid themselves flat on the floor. They fired at the soldiers and McKinney sensed a projectile passing through the air an inch from his face. He swore and returned fire. Garcia and Roldan rose to a crouch and used their repeaters in alternating bursts to kill any Vraxar who showed themselves.

  More gathered on the stairwell. Webb launched a rocket towards them with perfect aim. The explosion scattered the burning bodies of the Vraxar, hurling their charred bodies violently against the walls.

  “We’re at the entry point now, sir,” said Evans.

  “Get on the shuttle!”

  “What about you?”

  “There’s nothing you can do. We’ll have to get ourselves out of this.”

  “Sir, I…”

  “Go!”

  The four men were in an exceptionally bad position. The entry point was a long way distant and there was no way they’d reach it without being killed. There was an effectively unlimited number of enemy soldiers coming for them and this was only the vanguard. Once the Vraxar got their act together, they would crush this tiny resistance. It was a miracle they’d not been more organised and McKinney assumed it was because their officers were dead or elsewhere on the ship. A slug hit the wall near his head and whined past his ear. Webb fired again and the Vraxar were once more reduced to ash by a detonating plasma rocket.

  “I hope they hang the medal on my grave,” said Roldan. “My repeater ammo’s down to 30%.”

  “Mine’s below 10%,” said Garcia.

  We’re really going to die, thought McKinney. Just when I was beginning to think I was immune to it.

  He smiled bitterly at this evaluation. McKinney wasn’t a man who worried about death and now he was confronted by the inevitability, he discovered he really didn’t want to give himself up to it. He expected to feel anger; instead there was calmness and a lack of fear.

  Webb fired again and again. As soon as the tube recharged he fired, driving the Vraxar deeper into the stairwell. Since there was nothing to hide behind, it was only the plasma launcher keeping the men alive and the weapon held a limited number of projectiles. Once it ran out, it was game over.

  Something caught McKinney’s eye – there was a groove in the opposite wall, near to where Garcia crouched with his almost-depleted repeater. Above this groove was another and another, leading up to the ceiling.

  He dashed across and sprang at the wall, putting his hand into the highest alcove he could reach. With an enormous effort, he hauled himself up with only his arms, while his toes scrabbled to find purchase. There was a hidden lever to one side of the ladder, exactly where he expected to find it. He jammed his fingers in and pulled. A hatch opened above his head and he climbed into the opening.

  “What are you doing?” asked Garcia.

  McKinney braced himself and leaned over the corridor below, with his arm outstretched. “Garcia, you’re next. Quickly!”

  The men were well-enough trained to figure out when was the best time to move under fire. Webb launched one of his rockets and Garcia acted. With desperate strength, he climbed the wall. Near the top, he reached out for McKinney’s hand. His other hand slipped and he began to fall. McKinney’s hand met Garcia’s and gripped it tightly. With a snarl of effort, he pulled, feeling his bicep and shoulder scream with the effort of lifting a fully-kitted soldier. Garcia didn’t hang passively in the air and he slapped his free hand over the lip. His legs kicked in space for a moment and then he was in.

  “Roldan, your turn.”

  The soldier released an extended spray of burning hot slugs from his repeater. McKinney heard it click when its ammo well ran dry.

  “Now!”

  Webb fired another rocket. “I’ve only got one more left.”

  Roldan practically ran up the wall, betraying the climbing skills of a man either born in the mountains or one who was skilled at breaking and entering. He reached the top in moments and it was easy for McKinney and Garcia to drag him inside.

  “Up you come,” said Garcia encouragingly.

  The final rocket whistled from the end of Webb’s launcher. He threw it to the ground like it meant nothing to him and began hauling himself up the wall. Unlike Roldan, Webb was a poor climber and he fought his way up one rung at a time.

  “Stop pissing around,” said Roldan.

  “I can’t deal with heights.”

  McKinney gritted his teeth in frustration. Of all times to worry over a few metres of ladder, this wasn’t the best one. “Come on,” he growled.

  Webb lacked the coordination to climb and look upwards simultaneously, so he kept his gaze pointed straight at the corridor wall. Consequently, when he reached up for the first time, he wasn’t close enough for the others to grab him.

  “One more rung!” said Garcia. “How the hell did you get through basic training?”

  Webb twisted his head to one side. “They’re coming again.”

  “Don’t look, climb!”

  With a laborious heave, Webb got himself onto the next rung and swung one arm up in a wide, aimless arc. It was his lucky day and McKinney’s adrenaline-enhanced reactions allowed him to grab the soldier’s wrist.

  “Up you come,” he said.

  With a monumental effort, McKinney crooked his arm and then forced his powerful leg muscles to push him into a standing position, bringing Webb up with him.

  “Thanks, Lieutenant,” said Webb.

  “Thanks for the good shooting,” said Garcia in an unusual show of gratitude.

  “No worries, man.”

  It was dark in the room, and with barely enough room for the four of them. McKinney couldn’t recall if this was the same ladder he’d climbed last time and didn’t care one way or another. What he did care about was the passage leading through the interior of the Neutraliser towards the central conduit. He squeezed between the three men and began walking. There was a moment of time during which realisation sunk into the consciousness of the soldiers.

  “Are we going to that place you nearly died?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you nearly died, Lieutenant.”

  “The suit brought me round.” McKinney switched on his visor torch and turned to face the men. They milled uncertainly in the space over the still-open hatch. “The way I see it, if we stay down there, we’ll definitely die. If we go this way, the suits might be able to keep us going.”

  “Shit, man, this is no good,” said Roldan.

  “I’m not leaving any of you behind and if that means we wait here to die, that’s what it means. However, the way I see it is you’ve got to follow or you’ll be responsible for killing your superior officer. They don’t give out medals for that.”

  “He’s clever,” said Roldan grudgingly.

  “That’s why he’s lieutenant and we’re still R1Ts,” said Garcia.

  McKinney resumed his walk and grinned when he heard the others hurrying after him. The smile faded quickly – in reality he hated the thought of what was coming. He’d always been strong and fit, so the thought of his body failing scared him. He distracted himself by talking.

  “I reckon we’re eight hundred metres from the entry point room,” he said. “Once we get
into the conduit, there’s a walkway – we’re going to run along it as quickly as we can. When we’re two hundred metres away from our goal, we’ll start looking for another one of these passages. We’ll drop back into the main corridor and hope we manage to surprise the Vraxar enough that we can escape.”

  “Do you think we’re far enough ahead of them?” asked Roldan. “What if they’re running along that corridor already?”

  “Stop worrying about what might go wrong,” said Garcia. “You need to look on the bright side, like I do.”

  There were some statements which were so unjust it was hard to come up with a coherent response. Roldan snorted and didn’t say anything else.

  “What’s that buzzing?” asked Webb.

  “It’s coming from the central area and I have no idea what’s generating it. It gets a lot louder.”

  The short conversation was enough to fill in the time it took to reach the end of the tight passage. Again, there was a small room identical to the last and with another lever in the same place.

  “We help each other, right?” said McKinney. “We either all make it or none of us.”

  “Agreed,” said Garcia.

  Roldan and Webb nodded their own acceptance.

  “If your repeaters are dry, this would be a good time to dump them.”

  The two men shrugged out of their repeater harnesses and dropped the weapons to the ground. There was no need for them to carry the extra weight if they were out of ammunition.

  “It served me well,” said Garcia, giving the discarded gun a poke with his foot.

  “You can mourn it later. Now, get ready to run,” said McKinney. “It’s an impressive sight. Don’t stop to gawp.”

  With that, he hooked his fingers over the top of the lever and dragged it down. The door leading to the Neutraliser’s central conduit slid aside quietly and without fuss, allowing the sickly green light to enter. The buzzing increased in volume until it was painful to hear.