“Command Center! Command Center, do you read me?” Brinker shouted repeatedly into his mike. He needed their communications and their cameras, or this was going to be a very short war.
“On the line,” Jack Linde announced as he stepped over the body of Toon and slid into the command chair.
“I need some eyes and I need them now!” Brinker screamed.
“I’m working on it, Sarge,” Jack responded calmly.
“Hiraldo, man your rail gun,” Brinker shouted as five other colonists appeared in suited form exiting the nearest airlock.
“I’m on it,” she responded, running quickly into the darkness.
“Ok, I got video,” Jack reported as he bypassed Toon’s fake image.
“Talk to me; talk to me,” Brinker commanded.
“Four vehicles in view now. One vehicle near the Command Center!”
“It’s out of action,” Brinker responded instantly.
“Ok, ok,” Jack continued. “Three vehicles in motion. Vectors follow: 48 degrees, range 210 meters; 128 degrees, range 80 meters; and 135 degrees, range 120 meters.”
“Damn!” Brinker swore. They were all lining up precisely in the rail gun blind spots.
“How many vehicles do you have, Jack?” Brinker asked. “There should be seven.”
“Negative. I only see four, total. Sarge, there’re people coming out of the woodwork.”
“Spot them for me,” Brinker responded.
With that, there was a piercing, shrill whistle over the communications circuit. The enemy had obviously jammed the frequency. The noise was so loud and deafening, every suited figure from BC1, including Brinker, had no choice but to shut the communications receiver down. Now they were not only blind, but deaf as well. There would be no more command and control outside as Jack sat helplessly at the console, able only to watch events unfold. But his helplessness lasted only a few seconds, as he seized upon an idea of his own.
eter and Francis both had to shut off their own communications circuits as they exited the airlock together. In horror and disbelief, they saw two suited figures step from behind an external vent and simultaneously gun down a suited BC1 colonist.
Peter made a quick motion with his hands as Francis nodded an understanding. They split and went around the dome to approach the suited figures from behind. Since there were few guns to go around, Peter was armed with a powerful taser capable of 250,000 volts of raw electromagnetic energy and a razor sharp knife. Francis still held his handgun with laser sight.
As they approached the figures from behind, the two Soviets split up and began to walk in different directions. Peter followed one and Francis the other. Peter stealthy raced up behind the Soviet and with a sweep, cut his primary air supply hose. The figure died immediately and fell to the ground. As he did so, the other figure looked around and Francis shot him in the heart. They hurriedly picked up the Soviet weapons – each held a shotgun and a handgun.
As they rounded a corner, they met another Soviet face to face, separated by only two meters. Francis raised his gun to fire, as the Soviet, Valentin Anatoliy, fell to his knees and placed his hands behind his head. Without any hesitation, Peter pulled a small can from his suit, stepped up to the man as he knelt and sprayed Anatoliy’s visor. Instantly it was coated with black foam that totally blinded, and thereby immobilized, him.
Anatoliy began to move his hands in an odd motion that looked like something between praying and outspread palms, as though he was begging for mercy. Then he extended his forefinger slowly and reached to write in the sand. In perfect English, he inscribd: surrender – 1056.78.
Francis took the man’s guns from him and looked to Peter as he looked around them again and again, making sure there were no surprises lurking for them in the darkness. Anatoliy then bent over and drew a lambda symbol in the sand. Suddenly Peter understood. The Soviet had just revealed their communications frequency!
Peter pointed to the number and to the Command Center. Together, he and Francis retreated to the window of the Command Center, which was piled over with sandbags. Francis began removing bags while Peter stood guard just as they were rocked with another explosion. Peter fervently prayed it was not either of the shelters.
Francis cleared away a fraction of the window and rapped repeatedly. They could see Jack working feverishly at the control console keyboard. Because the Command Center still held pressure, Jack could faintly hear the rapping, and looked around to see the suited figures staring at him from outside. Jack then held the microphone up and made a twisting motion with his fingers, speaking into the mike. Peter reached down and pressed his communicator to the ‘ON’ position as Francis turned away from them and fired a shot into the darkness.
“Can you hear me?” Jack’s voice asked clearly.
“Loud and clear,” Peter replied.
“I filtered the jam,” Jack said proudly.
“Jam this,” Peter said, repeating the Soviet frequency to Jack. “But give us and Brinker some data first,” Peter said. Jack simply nodded as he turned back to his seat and began speaking into the microphone while his fingers raced over the keys.
At Rail Gun 2, Colonist Mark Teiner sat at the controls, his eyes staring through the darkness with the use of his visor’s night vision display. He sat still, but ready to leap away from the gun if attacked or ready to fire if anything came into his sights. Suddenly, he saw three figures approach at 50 meters, stop, then face one another as though there were talking. Ever so slowly, Teiner raked his foot along the sand, turning the great gun in their direction without making any sudden movement. He lined them up in his sights over the barrel of rocks that lay on the rail just before him.
Just as he was about the squeeze the trigger, all three looked his way, obviously startled. Not wasting another second, Teiner squeezed the trigger and unleashed 400 megawatts of hellish momentum in their direction at mach 17. Their bodies instantly disintegrated in the onrushing volley of 40,000 tiny stones.
“Yes!” Teiner celebrated, standing up in his seat. But it was a short-lived celebration. He never discovered what had startled his victims and caused them to look in his direction. A pair of Soviets had approached from behind and killed him with two well placed volleys of double-ought buckshot that he never saw coming.
Brinker watched all this in horror. He had been worried about all the missing troops and whether they were laying back for a second and a third strike. But now he saw something even more horrible; two enemy soldiers were mounting the rail gun and aiming it to take out the Command Center.
Brinker motioned frantically for Hiraldo to flank him as he approached the gun on his stomach. As he did, one of the figures hoisted a drum of rock onto the rail and positioned it as the other spun the gun around to face the Command Center. But Brinker had arranged a block on each of the rail guns to prevent them from being pointed, accidentally or otherwise, back at the colony. While it was only a temporary block that could be removed with enough effort, it did buy Brinker enough time to get within striking distance as the suited figures attempted to determine why they could not point the gun at their target.
Hiraldo had disappeared behind the gun from the opposite side. Brinker cursed the lack of communications, and now realized that Hiraldo would have to read his mind.
The two Soviets worked side by side to tug out the layers of sand bags that blocked the guns motion. So it was with some ease that Brinker slid his knife into the kidney of the closest figure, who immediately fell away in an agonizing, yet quick death.
The second figure reacted with lightening speed, and swung his shotgun around to face Brinker head on. With a single reflex, Brinker backhanded the barrel away just as it went off, spraying his face shield and helmet with black debris and smoke. He then lunged at the individual and threw him to the ground in front of the gun. He looked through the face shield and did not know that he was staring directly at Leonid Kravchenko, eye to eye.
Kravchenko smiled his ghastly smile at Brinker. Fight
s to the death were a common activity for him. And now his ugly face betrayed that he was planning yet another sadistic kill. But Brinker was no stranger to death struggles either as they gripped one another with uncommon strength, each having no intention of giving in to the other. With a precise knowledge of the enemy’s weaknesses, Brinker crushed the top of his helmet into Kravchenko face plate with all his strength. It was a gamble, since he knew he might crack his own face plate with such a savage blow, as well as the Soviets. But in the end, no one’s face plate cracked and it enraged Kravchenko to the point that he managed to thrust Brinker’s grip away and then kick him aside with a savage foot to the Marine’s side. Feeling his rib snap, Brinker responded with agony and fell away, his breath knocked out of him and his diaphragm arrested with the excruciating pain raking up his side.
Kravchenko sensed this and lunged at Brinker with all the fury of a killing machine. He withdrew his knife from his sheath and raised it over Brinker, ready to plunge it into his heart. His right hand held the knife and his left hand was raised in a defiant fist, as though he were going to pummel Brinker with it. Brinker’s hands shot up and gripped Kravchenko’s left arm and held the knife in check. But Kravchenko was now too strong for him, as Brinker’s breathing was compromised and his pain was too great to maintain his grip for much longer. His mind grasped the inevitable; that these were his last seconds of life. Looking at Kravchenko, he could see actual enjoyment on the smiling face of the man who was about to kill him. Brinker seethed with rage and he held on for just a single second more, trying to summon some energy deep inside that he desperately hoped was there.
What he could not know was that this extra second was just enough time to allow Hiraldo to line up on Kravchenko’s left hand, still poised in a balled fist, just one meter away from the end of the rail gun’s barrel. She pulled the trigger and Kravchenko’s hand and left arm disappeared in a mist.
Kravchenko stared with horror at his missing arm. He released his grip on the knife and looked at the part of his suit where his arm had once been. In the ensuing maelstrom of energy, the supersonic rocks had miraculously twisted and sealed his suit in an instant. Kravchenko held his mangled arm up as his blood gushed down inside the suit and sprayed into his evil face. He fell in agony and looked over to Brinker, gasping for air on the cold Martian desert sands. Kravchenko’s body lay across the gun’s forward leg, his head hanging down. The blood from his severed arm ran down his suit and began filling his helmet. Just as their eyes locked for a single instant - as the sinister eyes were covered in the rising pool of his own blood - Kravchenko died.
Hiraldo rushed to Brinker and pressed his communications circuit. “Sarge, we’re back on line. Are you okay?”
“Hiraldo, you got a bad habit of pulling my rocks out of the fire, you know that?” he responded.
Hiraldo turned her head sideways and looked down at the hideous sight of Kravchenko’s lips quivering; his sardonic mouth still moving, half out of the pool of his own blood. “Look’s like this one’s gonna need a refill,” she said dryly.
“Com center, you still on the line?” Brinker snapped into his com-circuit.
“Yes, Sarge, still here,” Jack replied. “I just jammed all their circuits. They’re out of contact with one another and they can’t hear us. All our people are now back on line.”
“Damn good work, son; damn good work!”
eter heard the communications between the Command Center and Brinker and asked, “Brinker, what’s your status?”
“Ok. Fine.”
“We need a roll call. Everyone sound off, one at a time. I need a last name and a position.” Of the twelve outside fighters, eight replied, including Peter, then Jack at the Command Center and both safe rooms.
“Okay, now I need an enemy damage report,” Peter continued. In the ensuing reports, it was determined that eight of the enemy were dead, one had surrendered and two SARS had been knocked out.
“I want to talk to the one who surrendered,” Brinker said.
“Meet me there,” Peter replied, giving directions to his location that only Brinker would understand. A few moments later, they arrived at the location of the surrendered Anatoliy, who was still lying in the position they had left him; face down on the sand.
Brinker pressed his helmet to the helmet of the Soviet. “How many SARs made it?” he screamed, trusting the vibration of his voice would be heard.
“Four,” the faint accented voice replied. “And there were 17 survivors who made it here with Dimitiov.”
Peter looked quizzically at Brinker.
“What do you mean, survivors?” Brinker asked.
“Colonel Dimitriov; our leader,” came the reply. “She is insane. She killed all but 17 of us along the way.”
“That leaves nine wandering about,” Peter responded, looking around them, peering into the darkness.
“Correction, there are eight,” Francis said over the circuit. “We just took out another one trying to get into the Saferoom 2 passage.”
“Eight is one hell of a lot better than 34,” Peter responded. “And I think I’ve figured out their plan. Command Center, do you see any SARs? We’re missing one,” Peter said as he looked at Brinker who was nodding as though he had just figured it out as well.
“Wait a minute, here comes one now, approaching at full speed, right down Gun 2’s blind spot!”
“Anyone in position to take it out?” Brinker asked.
“Negative. Somebody needs to get over there, now. It’s going to ram the CELSS laboratories!”
Peter shivered as he leapt up and ran toward the Laboratories alongside Brinker. If they took out the labs, it would be over for everyone, no matter who won the war.
As they rounded the edge of the laboratory, they could see the SAR rapidly approaching. Manned by Colonel Polevikov, his deputy, Klimov, and two soldiers, it was obviously on a collision course with the CELSS domes. It was frighteningly apparent to all that, in view of their suits’ depleted life support resources and the inevitable Soviet loss of this conflict, the officer had decided to assure the ultimate destruction of the victors. He was going down but he planned to take them all with him.
Brinker sprinted to face the oncoming SAR and fired repeated volleys at the onrushing vehicle. Although he scored more than one direct hit, it just kept on coming. The suicide driver was apparently well shielded.
“Hiraldo, can you see this?” Brinker shouted into his microphone. “Can you make Gun 2 and get the shot off?” he screamed.
“I’m on it, Sarge,” she replied as they could see her running at the rail gun emplacement some 75 meters away.
“There’s an open line of sight just in front of the CELSS dome. If you hurry, you can just make it,” Brinker screamed.
“Hiraldo,” Peter shouted, “you can’t afford to miss this shot!” Clearly, if Hiraldo shot too far in front of the racing vehicle, she would destroy the dome that held all their hopes for survival – food, water and air. If too far behind and she missed the SAR, she would destroy Saferoom 1 and kill everyone inside. If she didn’t thread the needle just right, it would be an unmitigated disaster.
They all watched Hiraldo sprint to reach the gun as the SAR raced through the darkness toward the very heart of their life support system. Hiraldo reached the gun and, in a single skillful leap, landed firmly in its seat. She then stuck her foot outside down into the sand and expertly stopped its momentum. In a solitary, excruciating second, she took careful aim and pressed the trigger to the gun.
Millions of kilogram-meter-seconds of momentum exploded off the rail and into the night with a shower of sparks as the rocks burst out past the screen at supersonic velocity. Half a second later the SAR vanished in a cloud just 15 meters short of impacting with the dome.
“Yes! Yes!” Brinker shouted as everyone assembled watched and applauded.
Jack broke into the celebration with an urgent appeal. “Folks, we have company outside the front door of Saferoom 2. You’d better
get there and get there fast.”
Peter bolted toward Saferoom 2 in fear. Ashley was holed up inside that lifeboat. Any puncture, no matter how insignificant, and she, as well as everyone else, would die instantly. Peter, Brinker, Francis and Hiraldo rushed at full speed inside the evacuated and open passageway leading to Saferoom 2. As they approached, Brinker urged them to stop just before rounding the corner to face the room.
“Let me and Hiraldo handle this; please,” Brinker whispered into their suit communicators. As he said this, he motioned Hiraldo to stand opposite them so they would round the corner first.
“You are wasting your time, Marine,” came the voice of a woman speaking English with a thick accent over their communications circuit.
“Identify yourself,” Brinker commanded.
“I am the leader of the Soviet contingent, Colonel Zoya Dimitriov. And if you surrender, I will not waste the lives of everyone in your Saferoom 2, including the dear bride of your leader, Peter Traynor.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to dictate the terms of surrender, Colonel Dimitriov,” Peter replied.
“You are wrong, my American stooge. You have 30 seconds to surrender, or these people will all die.”
Peter started to walk past Brinker who stood in his way, but Brinker held him back forcefully. Then Peter showed him a note he had hastily entered on his handheld computer.
“What are the terms of your surrender?” Peter asked, watching Brinker make frantic hand motions to Hiraldo and wildly exaggerated facial expressions so that she would clearly understand. She nodded and left the passageway.
“I have a United States Marine approaching your position from the opposite corridor, Colonel Dimitriov. Please do not fire on her; she does not mean you any harm. She’s only approaching to give you a personal note I have written for you.”
Hiraldo coughed weakly into the communications circuit as she rounded the corner. This was the signal for Brinker to peer around the corner for a quick reconnoiter of the situation in front of Saferoom 2. He swung back around and formed the number “two” with his fingers and drew their positions with his finger on the wall.
Mars Wars - Abyss of Elysium Page 45
