Battlecruiser Alamo: Shadows in the Sky

by Richard Tongue

   For a second, she inched away from the safety of her cover, but a pair of bullets pinned her down. The enemy knew they didn't have to advance, didn't have to risk the remaining ammunition in her pistol. Soon enough, Alamo and Endurance would be reduced to drifting debris, and they'd have no choice but to surrender. She glanced at Maxwell, who reached for the data cable, smiled, and gestured at the far wall.

   “Move when I do,” he said. “You aren't the only one to come up with crazy ideas.”

   He reached across, pushing off, sending the two of them flying in opposite directions, then waved his hands in the air as he swung around, using the data cable as a makeshift rope, swinging Harper towards the console. Bullets flew through the air all around them, slamming into the crates, one of them catching Maxwell squarely in the faceplate. The young officer had no time to react, dying before he could even know what was happening, his body limply bouncing off the wall.

   Harper quickly disconnected the cable, firing a round to send her towards the console, able to quickly look over the controls before hiding behind it. By accident, she'd found the perfect cover, the one piece of equipment in the room that the enemy wouldn't dare touch, but it didn't make any difference. Poking her head around, she saw the dull red gleam of the laser cannon and rapidly ducked back into safety.

   Any move out of cover would be instantly fatal. Four rifles and one cannon were trained on her position, ready to fire at a second's notice, and the late Maxwell had proven rather effectively how little chance she'd have if even a single bullet found its mark. She looked down at the patch on her leg, legacy of her last firefight, and felt another stab of pain shoot through her body.

   The countdown clock remorselessly continued to trickle down, less than two minutes to go, and there was nothing she could do. Even if she could access the controls, she didn't have any idea how to disable the column, but even that was out of the question. Her pistol would hold the guards back for a little while, but she'd never fight them all off alone.

   Then, at the far end of the corridor, she saw something that forced her eyes wide with shock. The glint of steel, as though from a sword, in the hands of a spacesuited figure peeking around the corner. Somehow, their reinforcements had arrived.

  Chapter 21

   “We're in time, I think,” Clarke said, looking at the control room. “I can see a big glowing blue thing, and I'm hoping that's the jammer we came here to find. I make five guards, one of them equipped with a laser, and someone in a Triplanetary spacesuit hovering behind what looks to be the control console. Probably Harper.”

   “A big glowing blue thing,” Mortimer said with a sigh.

   “I really don't know how else to describe it,” he replied, “and I think we can worry about the details later.” He pulled his clip from his gun, and tossed it to Fox, saying, “Everyone pass over your ammunition. Sergeant, I want you to consolidate the remaining rounds in your weapon. You're going to give the rest of us covering fire.”

   Raising an eyebrow, Fox replied, “You're going to charge right in?”

   “I'm counting on you to keep them from reacting until it's too late to make any difference. How many rounds do you have?”

   “Nineteen. I don't think I can get them at this range, not with the gravity field. This rifle won't interface with my suit, so I'm going to have to fire dumb-shot.”

   “As long as they don't know how bad your aim is in these conditions, we'll be fine.” He turned to the others, and said, “Set to maximum thrust, point down the corridor, and dive right for them. Weave from side to side as much as you can, and with a little luck, we'll be on them before they can get us. They'll be having the same problems with their weapons.”

   Gesturing up the corridor, Mortimer said, “Laser guy is clipping his weapon to his helmet.”

   “Then maybe one of them will be shooting straight, but at least it's the one with the longest recharge time on his weapon.” He smiled, then added, “Come on, one last charge.”

   “That about describes this perfectly,” Mortimer replied, with a sigh.

   “We've got two minutes to get that device disarmed,” Clarke said, “and it isn't as though we've got anywhere to run to anyway. If this goes wrong, we're all dead. Let's go down swinging our swords.”

   “The Twenty-Second Century,” Mortimer said, “and we're about to charge the enemy with swords. I'm surprised you didn't improvise lances for us.” Reaching for her wrist controls, she added, “All ready here.”

   “I am prepared,” Sekura said.

   Nestling into cover, Fox added, “Good luck, sir. I'll do what I can to keep you covered.”

   Leaning forward, Clarke briefly contemplated the sheer insanity of what he was attempting. Logically, he should have died two or three times since landing in the sphere, but somehow he'd managed to fight his way through, every time. He looked at Mortimer and smiled. She had been right, all the time. His instincts were good, and the nightmares only came when he second-guessed his decision. Somehow, it felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and even though he was about to fly into battle against near-impossible odds, he couldn't stop himself from grinning.

   “What are you so happy about?” Mortimer asked.

   “I'll tell you after the battle,” he replied, swinging his sword forward, ducking his head towards the column. “Allons-y!”

   “Crazy,” Mortimer muttered, as the three of them fired their thrusters, expending the bulk of their fuel in one quick burn, warning alarms ringing as they exceeded recommended safe speeds, red lights flashing down their heads-up display as the gathering interference battered on their systems, sliding into their firewalls and rendering the readouts nothing more than random gibberish.

   Bullets raced past him, Fox firing carefully placed shots to pin down the enemy, distract them for long enough to allow the trio to make their move. They'd been positioned to attack Harper, hanging by the console. Simply turning to face the rear bought Clarke's team a few precious seconds, and their enemy's bid to find safer cover gave them more.

   As he dived towards them, he raised his sword. Bullets flew through the air all around them, and a blast of laser energy smashed into the wall to his side, sending fragments of molten rock cascading through the air. Mortimer and Sekura were right behind him, and almost before he realized it, he reached the barricade, hacking his way through two of the astonished guards, aiming not for the tough fabric but the delicate apparatus on their rear, smashing their breathing gear with neat, precise thrusts. Mortimer had been more ambitious, colliding with a guard and knocking his rifle free, her sword neatly interposed between the weapon and the erstwhile user's hand.

   The trio collided with a collection of crates at the rear, killing their momentum, giving Clarke a brief second to survey the carnage they had wrought. Three of the guards were dead, one disarmed, only the laser-armed man still able to fight back, swinging the barrel of his lethal weapon around to cover them. Mortimer snatched the rifle, tried to turn in time, but before she could move, the figure slumped down to the ground, a shot in his back, the triumphant Fox waving her rifle into the air before moving up.

   Harper slid towards Clarke, passing him a data cable, and plugged it in, saying, “You're the reinforcements? The ones who've got the entire complex on alert?” She gestured at the battered sword in his hand, and said, “There's a story there that I'm going to want to know when we've got a chance. Take point and cover me. I've got to try and figure out a way to bring that damn thing offline. By my reckoning, we've got less than a minute.”

   Mortimer connected herself to Clarke's suit, and said, “At least we've got real weapons now.” Gently tossing her sword to the side, she added, “I'm almost disappointed.”

   “One prisoner, as well,” Clarke said, drifting over to him, clipping on a data cable. “You've got ten seconds to talk. How many more of you are on the way?”

   “Fifteen,” he replie
d, reluctantly. “The whole garrison's turned out. They'll be here any time now.” He looked around, nervously, and said, “If you surrender, I'll...”

   “What makes you think we're going to do a stupid thing like that?” Mortimer asked. “Armaments, my friend. How heavy?”

   “Twelve rifles, three lasers, one machine gun. I don't know how they'll deploy them, but they'll be heading down Corridor Bravo, from the landing pad. We were told that more reinforcements were on the way, that a large task force had arrived. That was you?”

   “I guess so,” Clarke admitted. “Weapons check?”

   “One rifle each, three clips per weapon,” Fox said. “Pretty primitive kit, though.”

   “It has to be,” the nervous prisoner admitted. “Nothing sophisticated works in here, not while the field is activated. Even the laser needed special equipment.”

   “You know how it works?”

   “No, no, I'm just a shuttle technician! That's why they sent me back here. I guess they didn't expect that you'd make it this deep into the compound. None of us did.” He looked around, and asked, “What are you going to do to me?”

   “Night, night, buddy,” Mortimer said, turning down his oxygen mix, waiting for him to slump to the floor. “He won't be going anywhere in a hurry. I guess we'll have company soon.”

   “Suggestions, Sergeant?” Clarke asked.

   Looking around the threshold, she said, “Staying here isn't going to work out. The barricade isn't well-built, and they already did quite a number on it while they were going after Lieutenant Harper. We need to go further down the corridor, up to the junction, and work our way into whatever cover we can find.” Gesturing at the crates, she added, “We can toss these ahead. Anything to help break up line of sight.”

   “First a sword fight, now a food fight,” Mortimer muttered, reaching for one of the few intact crates. “We'd better move.”

   Turning to the Neander, Clarke said, “You'd better wait here. It's possible you might be able to help Lieutenant Harper deactivate the device.”

   Nodding, Sekura said, “Much of it is decorated with the ancient language of my race. I think I can identify some of the pictographs.” Gesturing at the rifle, he added, “May the souls of your fathers fight alongside you this day.”

   “And with you,” Clarke said, clapping the old man on the shoulder. “Is this the adventure you were hoping for?”

   “They'll be singing of this day for a hundred years.”

   “Make sure they get my name right,” Mortimer said. “Come on.”

   The trio pushed back down the corridor, firing pinpoint bursts from their depleted thrusters as they settled into position, hastily assembling the crates into a makeshift barricade, running the data lines that connected the three of them on the ground, covering them with fragments of plastiboard to provide protection. With the jammer still operational, most of their systems were still out.

   “These rifles look pretty easy to use,” Fox said. “They're really stripped down. Basic optical sights, semi-auto option. Not designed for use in this environment, though. You're going to get quite a kick when you fire, so work yourself into some sort of firing position, feet braced on the floor. And try and shoot up, so that the recoil will push you down, rather than knocking you out of cover.”

   “Got it,” Mortimer said. “Would this be a good time to point out that I won three all-Fleet awards for zero-gravity marksmanship?”

   “We can have a competition when we get back to Alamo,” Clarke replied.

   “Fine,” Fox said, turning to him with a smile. “You can have your sword.”

   “Don't say that,” Mortimer said. “We're going to have a hard enough time wrestling the damn thing out of his hand as it is.”

   “Sometimes,” he replied, “you've just got to go with what is most effective. You're just worried that I'll beat you in our next tournament.”

   “Not a chance.”

   “You're on. Noon tomorrow, assuming neither of us are otherwise engaged.”

   Fox glanced at Clarke, and said, “You're really learning, aren't you.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “Usually, waiting for a battle is the hardest part. Veterans work out ways to get around it. Ronnie and I have both had enough time to get used to it. I'm finding it hard to remember that you've only been commissioned for a couple of months.”

   “If what I heard about his cruise on Churchill is anything to go by, I'm not particularly surprised by Captain Kid's cool demeanor,” Mortimer said with a smile.

   “Captain Kid?”

   “You're in charge, aren't you?”

   “Odd as that sounds...”

   “There you are, then.”

   “Does this mean I've got buried treasure hidden somewhere?” He looked at the two of them, shrugged, and said, “Why do you think I took up fencing? I used to watch all the old swashbuckling movies when I was a kid. When I was ten, I was determined to become a pirate.”

   “A space pirate?”

   “No, just a pirate. Sailing ship and everything. I even badgered my folks to get me a parrot.”

   Chuckling, Mortimer said, “I bet you had it sitting on your shoulder, as well.”

   “I tried. I still have the scars. That thing had really big claws.”

   Fox gently tossed pieces of plasticrete down the corridor, careful to position one at each entrance, and said, “Sighting markers. Tough to shoot in this gravity. There's just enough to give a little curve. You'll probably hit the body you are aiming at, but not the organ.”

   “Dead is dead,” Mortimer said. “How long have we got?”

   “Sixty seconds until Alamo hits the dead area. Then probably a few minutes more before battle, assuming Captain Salazar hasn't altered course,” Clarke replied.

   “Wait a minute,” Fox said. “Down there, in the shadows. A point heat source.”

   Clarke flicked on his infra-red visor, and cursed, replying, “Someone's charging a laser cannon. Good luck, everyone. This is going to get real bad, real quick.”

   “Not so bad,” Mortimer replied. “We've only got to hold out for sixty seconds.”

   “Might as well be sixty years,” Fox said, as the first bullets smashed into their position.

  Chapter 22

   Salazar looked at the screen, watching Probe Six as it raced towards the dead zone, hoping with every fiber of his being that the small vessel would remain on the screen, continue to transmit its beacon signal. Thoughts flashed through his mind, the beginnings of a new battle plan, turning to face the enemy, catching them by surprise. All of the happy thoughts faded as the beacon abruptly died, only the physical probe remaining on a course that would eventually lead to a touchdown on the surface of the sphere, hours into the future.

   “Thirty seconds to dead zone. Two minutes, ten seconds to firing range,” Scott said. “If you've got any more inspiring words for the crew, skipper, now would be a good time for them.”

   “Not today,” he replied. “I'll save them for the victory speech. Still nothing from the assault team? Nothing at all?”

   “No signal, sir,” Bowman said.

   “That's it!” Carpenter said. “Sensors down, long-range communications down. I already arranged for Chief Washington to start work analyzing the attack. There might be something we can do about it.” She paused, then said, “Kowalski suggested a towed sensor array, but there wasn't time to put it together with the length required.”

   “You aren't joking,” Scott replied. “It'd have to be ten thousand miles long to do any good.”

   “Perfectly possible in theory,” Carpenter said with a straight face. “In practice, I doubt there would be very much left in our raw material stockpiles when we were finished.”

   “Quesada, execute random walk evasive pattern. Do we have contact with the lookouts?”

   The screen flickered on, showing
a low-resolution image of the space immediately behind Alamo, and the helmsman replied, “Midshipman Petrova is back in the aft thruster control room with a pair of image intensifiers, hooked up by data cable. We're not going to get much in the way of magnification, but it ought to give us some sort of idea of their attack pattern. Though we're still vulnerable to a lucky hit. Not much we can do about that.”

   “Activate point-defense batteries in one minute, saturation fire at close range,” Salazar ordered. Before Scott could reply, he said, “I know, but a long shot is better than no chance at all.”

   “Our last images showed Endurance altering course,” Ballard said, frowning. “Vectoring to the right, turrets moving towards Alamo.”

   “Good,” Salazar said. “Lieutenant Scott, please input the battle plan into the computer, and alter our simulations accordingly.”

   “That was the plan?” Quesada asked.

   “With a little luck, the last thing that our friends behind us will see before they enter the same dead zone is Endurance apparently changing sides. With a few final signals suggesting that a mutiny is taking place on board. We can hope that it will influence them to throw everything they've got at us.”

   Eyes widening, Fitzroy said, “Is that a good idea, sir?”

   “The mass drivers on Endurance are a lot more use in the battle than our weapons are at the moment. With a little luck, that'll change as soon as Harper turns off the jammer, but we've got to preserve Endurance until then. We can't do it with guns, so we'll have to use guile instead.”

   “Fifty seconds to combat range, assuming no course changes,” Scott said. “I've switched the missiles to visual tracking. Clumsy as hell, and we'll be lucky to have any control over the point of impact on the enemy ship, but this way we should at least hit whatever we aim at.”