“Damn it!” Cantrell said. “Enemy missiles are changing course, moving away from ours!”
“They'll take the hit,” Nelyubov said, stepping over to her console.
“And smash us into the bargain, sir,” Cantrell replied. “Impact in thirty-two seconds, and I can't get our missiles up in time.” Shaking her head, she added, “Those larger missiles will be on us twenty-two seconds later. I might be able to shoot them down.”
“Harper?” Orlova asked, quietly.
“Nothing,” the hacker replied, red-faced with frustration. “I just can't hack into their damn systems. I don't even know where to start!”
“Impact,” Spinelli said. “Six hits, all superstructure. Enemy ship has lost port maneuvering thrusters, primary life support, communications…,” he shook his head, and added, “They're a mess, Captain.”
“Cold comfort,” Nelyubov said, watching the six not-men missiles dive towards them. Cantrell, Harper and Foster frantically worked to try and conjure up a miracle, find some way to stop them from impacting, but no matter how hard they worked, they couldn't force the combat fabricators to move any faster, or the laser to recharge more rapidly.
“Captain to crew,” Orlova said, “Six missiles incoming. Stand-by for major impact damage, stand-by for systems failures. Secure all space-tight compartments.”
“Five seconds, ma'am,” Spinelli said, watching the tracks as they curved in on his display, unconsciously gripping the armrest of his chair. “Three seconds. Still running true.”
“Twelve seconds to third salvo,” Cantrell said, shaking her head. “There's nothing I can do.”
An anguished whine swept the decks as the six missiles smashed into Alamo's hull, an angry groan as hull plates buckled and disrupted systems failed. The lights flickered for a brief minute, the power distribution nodes ruptured, and Cantrell started to curse at her screen, while Erickson frantically attempted to take stock of the damage. Orlova could feel the impact, the ship moving into an uncontrolled spin as Foster desperately attempted to stabilize her, using every trick she knew.
“Report, Lieutenant,” Orlova said, grabbing onto the back of her chair.
“Guidance system failure,” she said. “That last hit smashed the power distribution network all through the ship. I'm trying to bypass, but it's going to be at least ten minutes.” Shaking her head, she replied, “Whatever is in those missiles, we'll find out the hard way in about twenty seconds.”
“They're decelerating!” Spinelli said. “I don't understand. Why not go for maximum impact?”
“I do,” Nelyubov said, with a sigh. “They're not going to need their ship much longer. Not if they capture ours.” Turning to Weitzman, he added, “Signal to all decks. Prepare to repel boarders.”
Chapter 2
Ensign Gabriel Cooper sprinted into position, First Squad hurrying behind him, rifles in hand, racing towards their assigned combat station. He glanced down at the datapad in his hand, the internal view of the ship shuddering as another blast slammed into the hull, far too close for comfort. The greatest frustration was not knowing what was going on, up on the bridge, and since the disruption of the power network, news had been far too scanty for his liking.
At last, a series of tactical updates flashed onto his screen, and he instantly wished that it had stayed dark. Incoming boarding shuttles, heading to key locations across this ship, due to make contact in the next few seconds. His squad was only a couple of corners away from the first wave, just above Engineering, and Third Squad was perfectly placed to meet the team heading for Weapons Control, but one of his guesses had been in error. Second Squad was near the main reactor, when they needed to defend Life Support, just two decks above him.
As he raced down the corridor, he tapped a control to alert Corporal Walpis, hoping that he could move his team into position in time, though without the elevators, it was a quarter-mile sprint down a very long corridor. Corporal Hunt jogged up beside him with enviable speed, as a loud crash echoed through the hull, the hissing of atmosphere leaking into space, followed by a smell he didn't recognize, a strong chemical brew that almost made him choke.
“Boarders up ahead, gang,” he said, keeping up the pace. “Just around the corner. We can't afford to give them a chance to regroup, and we know they won't surrender. Send them to hell.” Doubling his speed to keep the lead as the rest of the squad struggled to keep pace, his rifle nestled in his arms, he turned around the corner and opened fire, a blind shot that cracked across the corridor, instantly drawing the attention of a dozen armored figures stumbling through a hole in the hull that hadn't been there a moment ago, climbing out of their boarding missile onto the deck.
His second shot beat their first, an armor-piercing round that sliced into one of them, sending the lead not-man's body crashing to the deck with blood spilling out onto the carpet. Hunt managed to wing another one in the shoulder, then dived for cover, Cooper finding himself out in the open, shots ringing out all around him, angry dents forming in the hull. He ducked and rolled to the right, behind a crate of emergency components.
“Price,” he ordered the nearest trooper, “Take Martinez and Nash, and work around the other way. Let's get them from both sides. We'll keep them pinned down, then you return the favor when we advance. Move.”
The lance-corporal nodded, sprinting back down the corridor with the two named troopers behind him, taking a turning into a maintenance way running parallel with the main corridor. Alamo was a maze of corridors, shafts and passages, a tangled web connecting the decks and compartments within the hull, a significant advantage to anyone who was familiar with the lie of the land.
Up ahead, the not-men were attempting to move forward, low-velocity bullets pinning them in place whenever they tried to advance, the armor-piercing rounds saved for a certain shot. Without them, their rifles would be useless against this enemy, but if they fired carelessly, the bullet could easily pierce the hull, or destroy some vital piece of equipment that would render the battle a Pyrrhic victory at best.
Another not-man slumped to the deck, blood pouring from his neck, Private Rhodes yelling in a war whoop as he felled his target. Cooper glanced down at his watch, a frown on his face. In about twenty seconds, Price and the others should be emerging behind the enemy, ready to catch them by surprise. As Hunt took down another not-man careless enough to break cover, his body falling back into the boarding missile, he counted down the last few seconds, before waving his arm forward.
“Let them have it!” he yelled, and seven rifles fired as one, light rounds crashing into the deck. A volley of shots responded, one of them close enough to Cooper that he could feel the rush of air, and three of the not-men fell forward, shot in the back by Price and the two sharpshooters, taking the odds back into their favor.
“Come on!” Hunt cried, leaping out of cover, rifle in hand. The not-men were spinning around to deal with the new threat, unprepared for the veteran's advance, and Cooper sprinted after him, taking another of the enemies down with a well-aimed shot to the stomach, the not-man noisily dying on the deck.
Almost before he realized it, the battle was over, Rhodes claiming his second kill of the battle, and the only surviving not-man turning his pistol on himself to avoid the disgrace of surrender. Cooper panted for breath, looking at the boarding missiles they had used, the sealant still wet around the hull-breach they had caused.
“Damn dangerous,” he said. “They must have hit ten gravities on the flight over, and with nowhere to run after they reached the ship.” Looking down at the bodies, he added, “Tough sons of bitches.”
“Ammunition check, people,” Hunt said, looking back at the squad as it walked forward. Yaskova was limping slightly, but there was no sign of injury, and he flashed her an inquiring stare.
“Tripped on a cable, sir,” she replied, red-faced. “I'm fine.”
Somewhere underneath him, a loud
explosion echoed through the corridors, deafening sirens blaring. He glanced at Hunt, who shook his head, and pulled out his datapad, trying to bring up the tactical map. Reports were racing in from Corporal Stewart, who appeared to have had similar luck to Cooper's team, their battle coming to an end if the overhead footage was anything to go by. There hadn't been any reports from Corporal Walpis for more than a minute, and the life support telemetry was worryingly dark from Gainsford and Pavlov.
“Life Support, people,” he said. “On the double!”
As a damage control team swept into the area, their eyes widening at the devastation wrought by less than a minute of battle, he moved over to a maintenance hatch, slamming it free and climbing inside, sliding down the ladder as fast as he dared. There was no point calling for any more reinforcements. Corporal Stewart had enough to worry her at the moment, and as soon as she'd cleaned up the mess at Drive Control, she'd come to the same conclusions he had.
He reached down for his communicator, pinning it next to his ear, a pulse of violent static ripping through his head as he tried to open a channel. Internal communications must have been damaged in that last salvo, and someone had set up a jamming field to knock out the backups. It didn't take much imagination to guess who.
Above him, the rest of the squad descended, weapons at the ready. He dropped to the bottom of the shaft, quickly moving out of the way to avoid being trampled by Rhodes, sprinting along the passage as it twisted around the decks, jumping over a tangle of cable on the floor that one of those following managed to catch, a series of violent oaths echoing along the walls, a moment of mirth in a desperate situation.
“Watch out there, Lopez,” Price said. “Make sure you defeat that dangerous relay.”
“I'll...”
“On the double, people!” Cooper yelled, ending the argument before it could begin. “One more shaft and we'll be dropping right into the middle of it.” Another flash popped up, his communicator informing them that Akjes' life-signs had just dropped to zero. “We know that Second Squad is being smashed, and we can expect to be going up against a prepared enemy that has established a defensive perimeter.”
He turned a corner, swinging with his arm, and continued, “If they take Life Support, we lose. Unless you want to manage without oxygen for the next few days. We've got to win this one.”
“Got Corporal Stewart, sir!” Hunt said, triumphantly. “Drive Control secure. She's on her way. Two minutes behind us.”
“We could all be dead in two minutes,” Rhodes muttered, shaking his head.
“You're too damn ugly to die, Private,” Cooper said, stopping at the hatch. He could hear the sounds of battle on the other side, the crack of bullets, a muffled blast as a smoke grenade exploded, a curl of gas forcing its way past the damaged seal. He forced himself to take two deep breaths, steadying himself, then raised his rifle and pulled open the door, rolling out onto the deck beyond.
Ahead of him, the remnants of Second Squad were pulling back down the corridor, trying to find cover, as a swarm of not-men followed in their wake. Pausing for a split-second to take careful aim, Cooper leveled his rifle and fired at the nearest, taking him down with a single well-placed shot, giving the others the moment of hesitation they needed to find safety behind a half-closed bulkhead, a dead technician lying on the far side of it, wires dangling from an open inspection hatch.
Hunt peered out of the hatch, almost getting a bullet in his head for the trouble, before running out to join Cooper and the others. Private Burke was panting for breath next to Private Akjes, the data transponder on his arm a shattered ruin. The Neander tapped it with his hand, a smile on his face.
“Saved my life, sir.”
“The others?”
The Neander glanced at the corridor, shook his head, and said, “Lance-Corporal Pavlov bought it when the missile hit. We were in the wrong place, sir. It changed course just before impact, before we could do a thing.” Shaking his head, he added, “He didn't have a chance. Nor did Gainsford.” Staring down the corridor at the slowly advancing not-men, he continued, “The others are holed up in Life Support. Sent us down here to try an end run around them, but they'd advanced further than we thought.”
“How many?” Hunt asked.
“Twenty, twenty-five.”
“Twice as many as we had, sir,” he said, turning to Cooper. Peering back at the hatch, Rhodes weighing whether to join them, he yelled, “Private, you and the other stay where you are until I say!”
“With you, Corporal!” he said, ducking back out. Cooper looked around, shaking his head. While he had reinforcements ready to deploy, they wouldn't advance in this direction, and Stewart's Squad would be coming down the other way in a matter of minutes. They'd managed to limit their beachhead, but that wasn't going to be enough. Hunt shook his head, gesturing down the corridor.
“We can deal with them another way, sir.”
“If they take Life Support, we're dead, Corporal.”
“The bridge can transfer control...”
The ship shuddered again, another missile hitting amidships, and Cooper replied, “In case you're missing it, Corporal, we're losing this battle! The intraship network's shot to hell, and with the communications relay knocked out, I don't think they can alternate control. Not in time to do any good.” Turning to Akjes, he said, “Up for a little stroll, Private?”
“Ready and eager, sir.”
“That's the spirit. You and Burke follow me, one second behind, and give me covering fire. We're going to try and break their lines.” Turning to Hunt, he continued, “Grenades ahead when we go, and follow me thirty seconds later to fill in gaps. Pass the word to Stewart that she can begin her attack as soon as she arrives, and that we keep going until we reach Life Support, no matter what.” The lights flickered again, a low whine from the air recirculators as the system struggled to keep up with the smoke on the deck.
“A few more hits like that…,” Burke said.
“Not our problem, Private. I'll leave that to the brass on the bridge. Our job is to kill bad guys, and there's a plentiful supply right down that corridor.” He peered around at the not-men, a group of them tensed up, likely ready for an assault of their own. If they managed to break through the Espatiers, there would be nothing to stop them bringing in reinforcements and taking the ship. There could be more boarding missiles on their way, right now.
Shaking his head to dismiss the thought, he glanced at Burke, hefted his rifle, and yelled, “Now!” He waited to the count of three as bullets cracked over his head, smiled, then jumped over the bulkhead from a standing start, sprinting down the corridor, firing wildly as a pair of smoke grenades billowed forth, one on each side. A not-man crashed to the deck in front of him, taken down by a well-aimed shot, and the two troopers raced up after him, moving on his flanks, picking their shots more carefully. Too carefully. Burke dropped down to the deck, screaming in pain from a bullet in his leg, Specialist Gidzenko ducking out of the shaft to retrieve him, disobeying orders to remain in position.
For a second, Cooper thought the medic would get away with it, but the nearest not-man recovered from his disbelief quickly, and he dropped down to the floor, collapsing onto his patient, his body wracked with convulsions. Another bullet smashed into the bulkhead next to him, and he dropped down into cover, Akjes sliding in beside him, hiding behind a swinging maintenance hatch, surrounded for a second by the enemy.
Corporal Hunt provided the distraction he needed to move again, charging forward, screaming an ancient battle cry as the rest of the squad followed him, shots ringing out, low-velocity rounds matched with deadlier ammunition, smashing into their lines. With a brief glance behind him, Cooper pushed himself to his feet, running on down the corridor, Akjes catching one of the not-men with a bullet to the neck an instant before he fired the shot that would have killed Cooper.
“Nice work, Private,” he said.
>
“Got to be careful, sir. It's dangerous around here!”
Hunt moved forward, shaking his head, saying, “We're clear, sir, and Corporal Stewart is beginning her assault. Rhodes, take point.” Looking at Cooper, he added, “It is someone else's turn, sir.”
His eyes wide, Rhodes edged forward, creeping along the side of the corridor, the rest of the squad following behind. Cooper snatched a glimpse down at his datapad, trying to get an updated tactical overview, but his screen was simply flashing 'loss of signal', over and over again. Sliding a new clip into his rifle, he followed Rhodes around a corner, and the world erupted in noise as a dozen shots blasted through the air around him, instinct sending him dropping to the ground, firing wildly into the battle.
On the far side of the corridor, Stewart was leading an assault, hung up on a group of not-men hiding behind a quickly improvised wall of ration crates. A body lay in the space between them at the advancing squad, but he couldn't make out which side it was from. Another, similar fortification blocked them from Life Support, four more figures on this side, all of them laying down suppressing fire. He glanced down at Rhodes, who waved a bloody hand in front of him, shaking his head.
“That's my favorite hand, sir. I was very attached to it.”
“Relax, Private. They'll fix you right up. Go back to the bulkhead, and see if you can find someone to get it working.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, scrambling towards the rear, Akjes moving up to take his place. The hatch to Life Support was resolutely closed, and Cooper pulled out his communicator, cursing when it failed to respond. He had to hope that Walpis would see sense and keep the door closed, rather than attempt to assist his comrades. It would take time for them to crack the sealed hatch open, and Cooper had no intention of giving them that time. He looked across the battleground, a hundred meter stretch of corridor festooned with bodies and debris, and managed to catch Stewart's eye, firing four shots in rapid succession.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Forbidden Seas Page 2
