Battlecruiser Alamo: Vault of Eternity

by Richard Tongue

 “Hull breach! Section Nineteen, Lower Storage Area.” A second alarm followed, and the engineer added, “And Section Thirty-Alpha, Aft Thruster Controls.”

   Marshall reached for the damaged maneuvering jets, grimacing as the firing sequences failed to engage. Doyle had done the bulk of her damage in that area, and in the time allowed, Lombardo had been able to do little more than a temporary patch job.

   “Eighty thousand feet,” Caine reported. “We can't take much more of this, Danny. Pull us out now.”

   With an eye on Waldheim, moving into position above them, Marshall replied, “Not yet. Not yet. We've got to finish the run, or all of this will be for nothing.”

   “Threat warning!” Ballard reported. “Six missiles launched from Waldheim. Stinger-Fives, I think. Atmospheric design, and they're heading right for us.”

   “Point-defense won't work in this environment,” Caine said, hanging onto her console as Alamo rocked to the side, caught in a high cross-wind. “Readying for defensive salvo when we get within range. Seventy thousand feet. Danny, we've got to pull up, now!”

   “Hull breach! Section Nine, Lower Communications Control,” Fitzroy said. “We're over the red-line in every area, sir! Ballute is burning away, and hull temperature is way above recommended maximum levels. She can't take any more of this!”

   “Twenty seconds,” Marshall said. “Come on, girl. You can do this. Hold it together.”

   Finally, he pushed the throttle fully open, unleashing the full power of Alamo's main engines, and dragged the ship up with the remaining thrusters, guiding it away from the planet. Beneath them, the landscape flashed past, streaks of brown and rust as the engines roared, the ship slowly struggling to gain altitude as it completed its run.

   The trajectory plot spun wildly around, Marshall throwing in pinpoint bursts from the thrusters to alter their escape vector, Waldheim quickly giving up the chase. Assuming they managed to make it out of the atmosphere, at least they would have managed to get past the enemy battleship. More sirens barked in the background, but Marshall pushed them to the back of his mind, his universe reduced to the helm and the sensor display.

   “Seventy thousand feet, rising,” Caine reported. “Gaining speed and height.”

   “Another breach!” Fitzroy added. “Aft Storage. Damage to power transfer network, attempting bypass to emergency systems. Hull temperature beginning to fall.”

   “Come on,” Marshall muttered, as the stars began to appear on the viewscreen once again. “Come on, almost there. One more push.” More warning lights flashed onto his console, and his hands danced across the controls as he struggled to keep the power balanced, to feed the engines properly, avoiding the overload that his systems warned was imminent.

   The ship lurched to the side as one of the engines died in a shower of klaxons, altitude momentarily dropping as Marshall struggled to correct the flight path, to keep the ship on a stable, even keel and drive it up to the safety of orbit. Slowly, reluctantly, the ship gained height once again. There was a brief flare on the viewscreen as the last of the ballute dropped away, its mission accomplished.

   “A hundred thousand feet, climbing,” Caine said, with a sigh of relief. “Waldheim now on the other side of the planet, and moving away rapidly. She's trying for a course change, but I don't think she's got much of a chance. Best guess has our next meeting in twenty-seven hours.” She paused, then added, “We're going to have a hard time getting back to the planet from here, Danny.”

   “Something to worry about later,” Marshall said, as Alamo rose through escape velocity, the warning lights winking off one after another as the ship reached the safe cool of vacuum. “Murphy's flight?”

   “Managed to evade without loss, though they didn't do any damage to the enemy fighters either,” Francis reported. “Tanker shuttle is already on the elevator airlock, ready to link-up with them, and fighter escort will launch in thirty seconds.”

   “Easing down to sixty-percent throttle,” Marshall said, hitting a control. “Kowalski, you can cut reactor power now and start your checks. Good work.”

   “I'm afraid the work's only just begun, skipper,” the engineer replied. “We've got hundreds of micro-fractures, and some bad straining on the superstructure. I'll try and get together some sort of a damage report for you as soon as I can, but it could take us an hour just to get a start on the analysis.”

   “I'll go down and give him a hand,” Francis said, making for the elevator after receiving a curt nod from Marshall. At the flick of a control, the image of the viewscreen switched to display the rear view, Dante visibly receding into the distance as they gained speed, the engines still roaring. Rising from the helm, Marshall gestured at Imoto.

   “She's all yours, Midshipman. Keep her slow and steady for the moment, and start work on a course to get us back to Dante as soon as possible.” Walking over to Caine, he added, “Tactical report, Deadeye?”

   “We were damned lucky,” she said. “And so far, all we've done is sustain hull damage without doing anything serious to them. We're going to have the change the odds a little, if we're even going to escape the system.” Gesturing at her monitor, she added, “Right now, they're set up to intercept us if we try for any of the near hendecaspace points.”

   Nodding, Marshall said, “You have the helm. I'm going down to Astrogation.”

   “Why?”

   “To see if I can find anything in this system to level the playing field. We've got to find a way to bring that ship down, or we've just stranded thirty of our people on the surface forever.”

  Chapter 11

   “Smart bastards,” Salazar said, watching the sensor display. Tapping the screen, he said, “They're coming down a good two miles away, behind those hills. We won't get a chance to shoot them down, and they'll have cover until the last minute.” Turning to Rhodes, he said, “Set up two squads to cover them. Leave the other one with me. I've got a job for them.”

   “Another one of your patented crazy ideas?” he replied. “I'll see to it. Damn, it's hot down here.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead, and continued, “Did anyone back home bother to test these desert uniforms?” Walking out of the dome, he yelled, “Parker, Sumner, get your squads assembled on the double! Defensive perimeter, northeast!”

   “What are you going to do?” Harper asked.

   “Hit them before they can hit us,” Salazar said, pointing at the topographical view. “This little ridge runs parallel to their best approach path. While they're sneaking around to hit us, we can sneak around to hit them.”

   “Except that they've got spy satellites overhead, and will be able to see you coming.”

   “I hope so. I'm counting on it.” He smiled, then added, “Trust me, Kris. It'll work.”

   With a practiced sigh, she replied, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

   Corporal Weber walked into the empty dome, stepping over a pile of abandoned printouts, and said, “My squad is formed up and ready to move out, sir. Plasma rifles armed and ready.”

   “Stealth isn't the name of the game today, then,” Harper said. “With that much heat, they'll pick us up from orbit!”

   “Corporal,” Salazar said, pointing at the map, “Your job is to follow this ridge line and engage the enemy at the first opportunity. You are to make all the noise you can, and make sure that they know you are coming.” Sweeping his hand across the display, he added, “Try and draw them into the defenses Ensign Rhodes is putting together, and catch them from the side.”

   “Aye, sir,” she replied, a frown on her face. “If they have scouts on that flank, sir, this mission isn't going to go very well for my team.”

   “Don't worry, Corporal,” Salazar said. “Harper and I are going to make sure that you aren't disturbed, and hopefully give them something more important to think about.” Looking around for Lombardo, he said, “Art?”

   “What's up, boss?”

  �
��“Those missiles. They're rigged for anti-aircraft, right? Any reason we can't use them as surface-to-surface?”

   He glanced across at the emplacements, then replied, “Yield's pretty low for that sort of weapon. To be honest, even used against aerial vehicles you'd need a well-aimed impact to bring one down. And once they've been fired, we don't have any way of replacing them.”

   “Nevertheless,” Salazar pressed.

   “I suppose so, Pavel, but it seems like an awful waste.”

   Pointing at the landing spot for the shuttles, Salazar said, “I want two nice explosions at forty feet above those shuttles in about ten minutes, Art. Fire in the sky. Something to worry the hell out of them.” He paused, then added, “The time is going to have to be perfect on this one.”

   “Will do,” the engineer replied with a sigh. “I should have stayed upstairs.” Walking out of the dome, he said, “Franklin! Get over to mount two, and find me a Number Three toolkit! We're going to have to make some manual adjustments to the missile ramps.”

   “Decoy?” Harper asked. “Something to give us cover while we launch our assault?”

   “Best I could do at such short notice. The yield on those firecrackers is next to useless anyway. Not bad for some improvised warheads, but I think we can probably come up with something better. Besides, I don't expect another aerial assault any time soon.” With a beaming smile, he added, “Not if we take down their shuttles on the ground.”

   “Pity we can't do something like that with Waldheim,” she replied, reaching for a plasma rifle. “Full battery pack. You realize that as soon as we hit the power cycle, all sorts of hell will be heading our way?”

   Sliding his rifle into position, Salazar drew his pistol, and gestured towards the door, saying, “If we get this right, they'll be far too busy to worry about a couple of escaping saboteurs. Let's get this done.”

   Walking out of the dome, Salazar glanced around at the defensive preparations, troopers running into position under the direction of Ensign Rhodes and his squad leaders, while Lieutenant Carpenter hurriedly gathered up supplies with the remnants of the stranded engineering team. Evidence of the rapid departure of the Pioneer survivors was everywhere, equipment dropped where they stood in their haste to reach the shuttles.

   The sky was still dominated by the wide contrail left by Alamo on its flyby, slowly spreading throughout the atmosphere like a shroud. At least their ship had made it to safety, even if Salazar and the landing force were now essentially abandoned, without any means of escaping this planet and nowhere to run if they did.

   “Remind me why I came up with this dumb idea?” he asked Harper, as he jogged towards the rocks, Weber's squad moving into position behind him.

   “Damned if I know,” Harper replied. “I don't even know why I volunteered to come along.”

   The two of them quickly gained ground on the heavily laden troopers, taking full advantage of the abundant cover as they dropped out of sight of the dome. If anyone above was watching, they would look like an advanced scout party moving ahead of the main formation, a reconnaissance-in-force. He could hear shouting from up ahead, barked orders from the leaders of the enemy column as they prepared for the attack.

   “Down,” Harper hissed, and Salazar dropped to the ground, rolling behind a nearby rock, following the line of her hand to spot a figure moving ahead of them, likely on a similar mission. He reached up into the epaulets of his uniform, larger than the normal service issue, and carefully slid out a blowgun, dart already in position at the end. Raising it to his lips, he lined it up with the approaching scout, and fired the paralyzing poison at the figure, the dart flying through the air, adjusted by the tiny on-board control computer to guide it towards its target.

   Clutching at his neck, the man didn't even have time to scream before dropping into the dirt, and Salazar moved forward, sliding the blowgun back into his pocket. A primitive weapon, but even in an age of plasma weapons and orbital bombardment, the old tricks were still worth using from time to time, and the ability to drop a man without heat signature or noise was a valuable skill.

   Kneeling down beside the figure, Salazar reached into his pocket, snatching out his communicator, then pulled out his datapad to connect the two, logging him into the enemy tactical net. Glancing up with a smile, he gestured for Harper to move by his side, and quickly scanned the enemy battle-plan, confirming his suspicious. They were keeping it nice and simple, relying on weight of numbers and firepower to carry the day. An inexperienced commander, going according to the manual rather than trusting his judgment.

   “That way,” Harper said, quickly rolling the prone – and snoring – figure out of sight as they raced around a distant outcrop, the noise of the approaching column growing louder by the minute. Salazar looked back, spotting the first elements of Weber's squad move into position to launch their assault, then looked down at his watch.

   “Three minutes to the fireworks,” he said. “Shuttles are a quarter-mile that way, on that flat outcrop. Light your rifle as soon as the explosion starts. Then shoot at anything that moves.”

   “Will do,” she replied, and the two of them raced towards their objective, crouching low to keep themselves out of sight. The first sounds of battle resounded from the rear, the staccato rattle of machine gun fire interspersed with the angry roar of a plasma rifle unleashing flaming death on the enemy, screams of the dead and the dying filling the air.

   “Frank knows what he's doing,” Harper said, sensing his fear. “He won't spend his men's lives cheaply, and he had enough time to get into a good defensive position.”

   “Yeah, I know,” he replied, but despite his words, doubt still flooded into his soul. He could just spot the gleaming shapes of the shuttles in the distance, a cluster of figures patrolling the perimeter, defending their precious vehicles against attack. Salazar looked at his watch, less than twenty seconds remaining before the missile launch, and reached down to the charging controls on his plasma rifle. Harper crouched into position next to him, looking out over the terrain, watching as the guards continued their patrol path. They were seconds from detection, whether they charged their weapons or not, and Salazar counted more than a dozen guards at the shuttles. Enough to guarantee there would be no escape.

   A loud roar rumbled from the base, and two missiles soared overhead, diving down towards the shuttles, the guards scattering for cover from the unexpected attack. Salazar slammed the control on his plasma rifle, the power pack instantly bursting into life, and as the twin explosions filled the sky, raced forward, setting the power to maximum and squeezing the trigger to send a ball of green energy bursting towards the nearest shuttle, the immense heat washing over the hull, burning and melting as it went, wrecking the engine mounting.

   To his right, Harper fired a shot that flew into the middle of the pack of guards, catching one of them and roasting him alive, the others diving into hastily-prepared cover. Someone had failed to prepare proper trench-works, and the men with the shuttles were paying dearly for that mistake, paying with their lives as Salazar fired a second bolt, catching the sensor and avionics of the second shuttle. They might not be able to destroy them, but wrecking them sufficiently to prevent a speedy takeoff would amount to the same thing.

   Another ball of green flame flew through the air, Harper managing a well-aimed shot on the landing gear of the final shuttle, reducing it to molten slag, the nose digging into the molten-hot rock, a hopeless repair job. The rattle of machine gun fire tore into the ground to their right, two of the guards managing at last to get to one of their perimeter weapons, and with a final parting shot at random into the camp, the two of them raced for the safety of cover, plumes of smoke rising into the air behind them.

   The distant thunder of gunfire echoed from the battle ahead, and Salazar and Harper made quick time, leaving chaos in their wake. Bullets slammed into the ground all around them as the guards desperately tried to catch their f
leeing prey, fearing the response of their superiors if they could not at least present them with revenge, but before they could draw a bead, the two of them jumped behind a rock, shards of stone flying into the air all around them as bullets smashed home.

   Leaning out from his newly-found cover, Salazar fired two more bolts in quick succession, neither of them threatening the advancing enemy, then unclipped the empty power pack and dropped it to the ground, tossing the now-useless rifle after it. Clouds of dust were rising as explosions ripped through the air all around them, his ears ringing from the constant roar, and he leveled his pistol at an advancing soldier, firing a pair of shots that sent the man tumbling to the ground, seeking cover.

   “I'm out as well,” Harper said, using the last of her energy to fire a final plasma bolt, burning into a rock that half a dozen men had been hiding behind, raining shards of stone down all around them. Unencumbered from the heavy weapons, they fled towards Weber's squad, a half-mile behind them, the crack of gunshot and roar of plasma flame warning them that they were retreating into a battle.

   As they raced back towards the base, Salazar had his first look at the firefight, and his eyes widened from the carnage on display. Twin plumes of smoke rose from the base, one from the dome itself, testament to the ferocity of the initial assault, but the attack on the shuttles seemed to have had the desired effect, forcing the enemy commander to pull back to protect his defensive position.

   Rhodes had managed to throw together defensive works, a combination of hacking into the sand and dragging empty containers into position, but from his first sight, the casualties seemed remarkably low. A loud thunder-crack echoed across the battlefield from the rear, and Harper grinned as she gestured at the column of smoke and flame rising from the shuttles. Evidently they'd done even more damage than they had thought, even if it had taken longer than they had hoped to take effect.

   Salazar could make out Weber leading a fire team to a new position, closing on the enemy from the flank, and his eyes widened as he saw a machine gun hidden behind a rocky outcrop, a weapon she couldn't have seen, and one that was about to tear her unit to pieces.