“Will do, sir!” Wolmar replied. “I'll get them moving.”
“Hunt?” Cooper asked, looking around. Failing to spot the platoon leader, he picked the first stripe-laden trooper he could find. “McBride, you're up. Form a squad to provide covering fire. I'm going back to pick up Harper.”
A rumble of machine gun fire almost drowned out the veteran's reply, “In that, sir? You won't get ten feet out there!”
“Set up the second plasma cannon and fire on either side of me. The smoke should give me a chance.” At McBride's doubtful gaze, he continued, “Damn it, Corporal, we've got to get on the move! Covering fire, now!”
Before the trooper could protest the impossibility of his action any further, Cooper staggered out of the trench, leaving his rifle behind in his haste. Sprinting towards the rear trench, he felt a burst of heat on his side, a plasma bolt narrowly missing him, coming from a tower on his right. Before he could shout an order to deal with the problem, he saw a flash out of the corner of his eye, an armor-piercing missile silencing the plasma tower.
Bullets were flying through the air all around him, but he could just see the trench ahead, Harper moving towards him with a single trooper at her side, before he felt his legs topple from under him, his feet catching in something on the ground, sending him falling to the dirt. He twisted around, spotting the body he had tripped over too late, and saw a pair of Xandari troopers racing towards him, leveling their pistols at him.
Two gunshots rang out, and the enemy troopers collapsed to the ground. Cooper turned, and saw Rhodes charging towards him, rifle in hand, a beaming smile on his face.
“You forgot something, sir!” he said, dragging Cooper to his feet. Together, they sprinted the remaining paces to Harper and her bodyguard, the four of them diving for shelter in a recently created crater. Glancing around, Cooper shook his head, trying and failing to spot any of his men.
“We've got five minutes,” he said. “Harper, are you ready?”
“Get me to that building, and I'll knock those satellites dead,” she replied, waving a holdall. “Where the hell are we?”
Rhodes was pouring over his datapad, beads of sweat on his forehead, and said, “I think we're at Charlie Four on the grid. The communications building is that way.” He gestured into a bank of smoke, a plasma bolt flying through the air close by. “Sir, we'll never make it by ourselves. I don't even think we could get back to the trench from here.”
“We don't have a choice,” Cooper replied. He looked at the trooper accompanying Harper, a Koltoc he didn't recognize, and said, “You got a plasma weapon?”
“A pistol, sir, but only five shots in my pack. I burned through most of it fighting off the last attack.”
“You'd better make each one of them count, Private. The three of us are going to charge, two second intervals, and I want you to blast anything you can see.” He reached for his communicator, a loud whine the only response. “They've got a jamming field going.”
“I should be able to deal with that as well,” Harper replied.
“We've got to get there first,” Rhodes said.
“On my mark,” Cooper said, but before he could move, Rhodes broke and ran towards the communications center, firing a trio of wild rounds ahead of him, weaving from side to side to avoid the lancing blasts of machine gun fire raining in his direction. Cooper shook his head, then followed, the Koltoc trooper firing one of the precious plasma blasts after him, the heat searing his head as the bolt missed him by inches.
Finally he saw some of his own troops, a fire team setting up a plasma cannon, bolts of energy bursting towards the buildings ahead, another defensive tower toppling under their onslaught. An explosion rippled into the ground by his side, almost sending him flying, and he struggled to stay on his feet, not knowing anything other than that he had to advance, had to charge forward, had to keep moving no matter what.
He risked a brief glance behind him, spotting Harper on his tail, hugging the holdall to her side. Another figure ran out of a bank of smoke, Hunt with a plasma pistol in his hand moving towards him, gesturing to the left. With a nod, Cooper followed his direction, dodging over the smoking remains of a Xandari gun emplacement, coughing from the fumes leaking from the smashed weapon.
“Keep moving!” he said, looking around to see a squad racing from the trench to his left, a general advance under way without anyone specifically ordering it. With the communications network broken, the battle had deteriorated into barely controlled chaos, each isolated group knowing only that they had to advance to their target, had to complete their mission. The thick shroud of smoke that was billowing across the battlefield only complicated matters. He was straining to see Rhodes up ahead, struggling to keep up with the fast-moving trooper.
Belatedly, he remembered the plasma pistol at his belt, tugging it free of its holster and hefting the weight in his hand. He fired a burst at another trench, three Xandari in his sights, a near-miss that still sent the sides of the fortification crumbling down upon its occupants, taking them out of the battle for at least a few moments.
Almost before he realized it, they had reached the building, Rhodes and Utemaro taking out the defenders with a trio of well aimed shots, black outlines on the walls where the soldiers stood. To the right, he heard an earth-shattering scream, one of his troopers killed in his tracks, and he slammed into the side of the building, dropping for cover, peering into the gloom to find targets.
“Covering fire!” he yelled, and as Hunt slid into position next to him, occupying a barricade manned only by enemy corpses, he fired a trio of rapid shots from his pistol, knowing that the odds of hitting anything were remote, content instead to keep the enemy pinned down.
He glanced at his watch, and shook his head. Amazingly, they were two minutes ahead of schedule, but the mad dash from the shuttles had cost him at least a quarter of his attack force already, the dead and the dying scattered across the battlefield. That they had certainly brought down more of the enemy was cold comfort as he watched another of his troopers fall, killed by burst of machine gun fire that almost ripped him in half.
Finally, Harper arrived, tossing her holdall to the ground. She ripped out her equipment, slapping the aerial lead into position on the metal wall of the building, while Cooper stood over her, pistol in hand, ready for the inevitable attack. The gunfire seemed to be thinning, and he could hear shouted orders in the background.
“They're forming for a counter-attack,” Hunt said. “Pulling back to reorganize. We've got minutes at most, sir.”
“Three minutes, and we'll be on our way out of here, Sergeant,” Cooper said. “Come on, Kris.”
“Almost there,” she said, frantically typing commands into the jammer's keyboard, compensating for the attempts of the technicians inside to stop her work. The device she was operating had been key to the success of the battle plan right from the start. They might not yet know enough to truly hack into Xandari systems, but now that they could read the data being transmitted, they could start to make an electronic mess of their signals.
The building they had temporarily taken housed the powerful transmitter, the link that coordinated the missile satellites that defended the Xandari homeworld. They couldn't stop control being transferred forever, but sixty seconds of confusion would be more than enough for the fighters to press their attack home.
“You should be able to transmit now,” Harper said. “Thirty seconds, and I'll be killing the missiles. You'd better get ready for an attack. I think they know what I'm doing.”
Tugging out his communicator, he said, “Cooper to all squad leaders. Assume defensive positions for five minutes, mark. After that, withdraw to the shuttles as best you can.” He glanced around, noting that the bulk of the men assembling with him were Second Platoon, and added, “Third to cover at the perimeter while First and Second move to catch up, then we proceed to the evacuation zone as fa
st as we can. For the moment, hold.”
“Movement, sir,” Hunt said, pointing into the shadows. Cooper looked down at Harper, still engrossed in her work, the rest of the world shut out as she concentrated on her duty. Rhodes moved forward, hunched low, taking a firing position behind a pair of Xandari bodies, glancing across at a dying Neander, shaking his head.
“No good, sir,” Rhodes said, blood streaming down his face from a cut on his forehead.
“Kelot to Cooper,” the gruff General said. “We've formed our perimeter, but we're too spread out. One serious attack will rip us in half.”
“Understood,” Cooper said. “Hold them as long as you can, but if you have to run, proceed by squads. We're all set here.”
The barking orders in the distance were growing in intensity, and Cooper knew that the brief peace that had swept across the battlefield was transient at best. The dust was beginning to disperse, and he could see the bloody remnants of the brief firefight, bodies littered everywhere, columns of thick, viscous smoke rising to the sky, flickering flames where plasma bolts had rained down.
“Come on, Harper,” he said. “They'll be starting the attack run any second now.”
“Almost there,” she replied.
For an instant, he saw a ruby laser running across the hacker's back, and he quickly followed it back to its source with his eyes, taking a shot at a Xandari sniper lodged in the remnants of one of the plasma towers. Almost on cue, the battle erupted again, a wave of machine gun fire cracking into the steel above him, bullets ricocheting in all directions, sending him dropping to the deck.
The indicator on his plasma pistol began to flash, a warning that half of the energy clip at his belt had been expended. From what he could see of the rest of his men, none of them were in much better condition.
“Just remember, everyone,” he joked. “I don't do glorious last stands. Prepare to set a new galactic sprint record once we get on the move.”
“We've got it!” Harper said. “Signal isolated. They can't transfer control, not for at least sixty seconds.”
Tapping a control on his communicator, Cooper said, “Strike Team to Alamo. Phase Two complete. Clear to begin Phase Three.” Looking around, he added, “Two minutes, people, and we're out of here. Now it all comes down to the fighters.”
Chapter 8
“Alamo Actual to Fighter Leader,” Orlova said, her voice crackling through Salazar's headset. “Phase Two complete. Clear to proceed with Phase Three. Good hunting.”
“Roger, Alamo, will comply,” he replied, switching the channel to talk to the rest of his squadron. “Fighter Leader to Squadron. The assault team has done its job, and now its time for us to do ours. The enemy satellite network is just ahead. We're going for swarm formation. Two missiles each, and be ready with the third if you need it.”
“Harris to Leader,” one of the rookies replied. “Shouldn't we fire all three missiles at once?”
“We need something left in case this goes wrong. Hold it for an emergency.” He paused, then said, “This is it, people. Break and attack.”
Salazar drove his fighter forward, sweeping towards his objective. The enemy fighters had been slow to respond, probably considering that the missile satellites would be able to defend themselves. Under normal circumstances, they'd have been perfectly right, but with the jamming system operating, they had one chance to open the corridor they needed.
“Ryan to Salazar!” an urgent voice called. Salazar looked across at his scanner, and shook his head at the updated information flashing onto the display.
“I see it, Lieutenant. Enemy bandits inbound.”
“Alamo Actual to Fighter Leader,” Orlova said. “We have forty-plus bandits inbound. Four cruisers on our tail. We can't help you.” She paused, then said, “You have permission to abort and return to base. I repeat, you have permission to abort.”
She knew he wouldn't. Couldn't.
“Fighter Leader to all pilots. We're pressing the attack. Keep your eyes open. We're going to have to ride the missiles all the way in. Switch to shotgun mode, and release at minimum range. Pull out as soon as you've fired and make for home. Forget the formation.”
“With you, Leader,” Murphy said, swinging onto his tail. Almost every fighter in orbital space was now sweeping in their direction, the Xandari commander belatedly realizing that he had been fooled. They'd hoped to convince them that this was a bluff, but the jamming field must have alerted every enemy force in the system to their plans.
“Damn it,” he muttered, too quietly to trigger the microphone. “This isn't going to work.”
Seven fighters against forty, and the seconds of safety were dropping away, enemy hackers laboring to overthrow the jamming field. As soon as they succeeded, the fighters would have dozens of missiles coming at them from all sides. Then there was Alamo. His long-range scanner showed their worst nightmare, four capital ships swinging around from the far side of the moon, fast enough to catch the battlecruiser in a matter of moments. Even if they lived through this battle, they might not have anywhere to go home to.
Forty seconds to contact. That was the easy part. The missile satellites were simply inert objects, tumbling in space. Reaching across to his targeting computer, he began the simple process of establishing a firing solution, the two warheads soaking trajectory data, locking onto their target. Running his eyes over the squadron status monitor, he frowned. The rookies were still moving far too slowly, despite the countless simulation runs. Only Ryan and Murphy seemed to be working as they should, smoothly preparing to launch their combined salvo. It seemed all too likely that six missiles were going to have to be enough.
The rookies shouldn't even be out here at all. Even Murphy. That she seemed to have natural talent was a fluke, something they had no right to expect. Taking those kids into a battlespace as crowded as this one was murder, and the thought of it made him sick to his stomach. Eager chatter filled the communication channels, the pilots urging each other on. He briefly thought about ordering them to keep quiet, but it didn't seem to matter. If they needed the support their comrades were providing, taking it away could be disastrous.
“Twenty seconds to missile release,” he said. “Cartwright, you're lagging behind. Harris, watch your trajectory track. You've drifted two degrees out.”
He rested his finger on the launch control, knowing that the computer would almost certainly beat him to the draw, but unwilling to trust the systems. Already he could see the Xandari attempting to infiltrate his systems, a planet of hackers swarming all over his craft. He looked at the squadron status board again, his eyes growing wide.
“Harris, what the hell is going on! You're thirty degrees off!”
“I don't know, Leader! Controls aren't responding!”
“Cold reboot, Harris, right now!”
“It isn't working. Manual override doesn't respond. I can't pull out!”
“Damn it, Harris, if you don't...”
The explosion to his right made his order moot, the fighter twisting around beyond the ability of the hull to withstand the stress being placed upon it. Shaking his head, Salazar turned back to the approach, barely able to spot his target up ahead, only a few thousand miles away. Everything had to drop away now, the missile satellite the only object he could permit in his universe for a second. Up to the last, the targeting computer refined the attack path.
His fighter rocked back as the two missiles raced away. At the same instant, Ryan and Murphy released their deadly payload, six warheads flying together towards the three satellites up ahead. Seconds later, four more joined the volley of death, ten trajectory tracks leaping forward to connect with their target.
“Leader to Cartwright...”
“Malfunction, sir. No infiltration, but I can't seem to launch.”
“Veer off, Cartwright. We'll have to hope ten missiles do the job.” Shaking his he
ad, he glanced at the status board, tapping for clarification. Two steps missed in the checklist, a rookie mistake. Not the pilot's fault, given the circumstances. He'd had only eighty-five hours in the cockpit before the mission. Less than a tenth of the time Flight School would have given him.
Two of the missiles erupted into flame, the self-destruct systems engaging as the ultimate resistance to enemy infiltration. The remainder dived towards their targets, recklessly burning fuel, while the fighter formation held its course, heedless of the enemy vessels moving in on all sides. If this attack failed, they'd have one more chance, though it would certainly mean their death. Even optimistically, the missile satellites would only be silenced for a few seconds more.
“Impact!” Ryan said. “One down, two to go!”
Another light winked out, and Salazar added, “That's one more.”
“Come on, you bastard,” Murphy said. “Die, damn it, die.” Almost reluctantly, the third satellite vanished from the screen, and the pilot yelled, “Clean sweep!”
“Run for home, everyone. Break for Alamo, as fast as you can!” Salazar pulled his fighter around, tapping a sequence of commands into his navigation computer. The enemy formation was surging after them, a narrow window that might allow a missile launch, but that wasn't what interested him at that moment.
“Murphy to Leader. I think we've got a shot at Cruiser Gamma.”
A smile crept across Salazar's face, and he replied, “You read my mind. Duvall, Tarhiki, return to the battlecruiser at full speed. The rest of you, form on me.”
“Roger, Leader,” Cartwright replied. “About the launch...”
“Just follow every step on the checklist this time, pilot,” Salazar said. “And we're going to need those missiles on target if we're going to have any chance of salvaging this. Unlock your safety overrides and push your engines as hard as you can. This is going to be tricky.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Orbit Page 7
