Legacy Fleet: Hammerfall (Kindle Worlds) (Khorsky Book 1)

by David Adams

  He laughed. Marchenko actually laughed. He sounded so much like Minsky. “Good,” he said, “now the whole of Syrene will come.”

  Not before the reactor went nova and blew this whole place to rubble, them along with it. Pavlov closed the connection and picked up his rifle. “You going to be okay?” he said to Ilyukhina.

  “Yeah,” she said, painfully pulling herself up into a sitting position. “I don’t like being on this roof, sir. We should get to the—ngg…we should get to the landing pad.”

  Not a great idea. “That’s a long way down,” he said. “The landing pad is two levels below us. That’s five, six metres at least…hell of a fall. If we break a leg, we die.”

  “If we don’t jump, we definitely die. There’s no cover here and Marchenko could easily snipe us from the jungle.” She took in a ragged breath. “We still don’t know where he is.”

  “He wasn’t in the basement,” said Dmitriev. “He wasn’t in the corridor either.”

  “Well,” said Pavlov, putting his ear to the metal roof, trying to hear the constant warning voice over the rain. “He’s got about three minutes to show himself before Chainsaw gets here, so if he’s going to make a move, he better hurry up.”

  The driving rain eased slightly, and in the distance, Pavlov could see the blinking light that was the dropship Anarchy, closing fast on their position.

  And below it, the SAM battery, turning to meet it.

  “Chuchnova?” asked Pavlov, standing up despite the battering rain. “What are you doing?”

  “Freeing us,” she said, her voice filled with the crazy. “Freeing us all.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Cockpit

  Dropship Anarchy

  CHAINSAW PUSHED ANARCHY’S ENGINES TO the limit, screaming low and fast across Syrene’s surface, every gauge redlined. Even Anne sounded worried, although that might have been her imagination.

  “If you maintain this pace,” said Anne, “you will absolutely, definitely die.”

  Yeah, she was just a little worried. Only a little.

  Dropships weren’t designed to fly this fast this low. “Rules are meant to be broken,” said Chainsaw, having to raise her voice over the wailing alarms. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Broken is what my airframe will be if you don’t slow down.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Chainsaw, pulling back the throttle, easing back from emergency speed to atmospheric. She wouldn’t be able to evacuate anyone if her engines burned out. “There, you big digital baby.”

  The wailing subsided. The ship’s surface temperature gauges were still worryingly high, and their craft had developed a faint rattle that was probably entirely fine—probably—but they had gained the lion’s share of the distance to Hammerfall anyway. The station would be coming up on their sensors now. Any minute now…

  Her radio crackled. “Anarchy, this is Pavlov.”

  “We’re almost there,” she said. Ground-pounders always got so panicky. “Don’t worry.”

  “Be advised, there’s an active SAM site in the vicinity of extraction. Suggest you hold tight until we deal with it.”

  Well, it was kind of him to tell her just as she was pulling into its airspace. Chainsaw yanked back the throttle, bringing the dropship to a hover. “Suggestion noted,” she said. “I’m going to sit here until you guys sort that shit out.”

  “Copy,” said Pavlov. “The real bad news is, if we can’t fix it real fucking quick, there’s no point in coming since we’ll all be dead.”

  “What’s the good news?”

  Pavlov chuckled grimly into the line. “I’ll let you know if we find any.”

  She closed the connection and slumped back in her chair. “Anne, adjust the gain on our anti-missile systems. We know the trace of the launcher, since it shot at us once already…can you adjust the sensitivity to track it?”

  “I can try,” said Anne. “It will take some time.”

  Chainsaw squirmed in her seat. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

  The moments ticked away. It was quiet in her cockpit, aside from the hum of engines keeping her hovered, and the occasional chirp of one of her systems.

  “You know,” Chainsaw said, half speaking to Anne, half to no one in particular, “only a couple of weeks ago, one of the other dropships, Ishak, got tagged by a SAM in this area. Probably killed by the same launcher, you know. The missile breached the armoured re-entry shield and severed the tail section from the rest of the craft, causing it to fragment in midair and crash, killing the pilot and the full team of spetsnaz onboard.”

  “Okay,” said Anne. “I’m not sure how this helps us.”

  It didn’t, really, but talking helped keep her calm. “Well, the kicker was… Confederate Fleet Command denied the dropship was attacked, saying that it fell due to a ‘technical failure’.”

  Anne paused for just a moment. That was unusual for her; a second was an eternity for an AI. Re-tuning her radar must have been a taxing job indeed. “The ‘technical failure’ being that it was missing its tail, or that it couldn’t take a shot from an anti-spacecraft missile.”

  “Basically,” said Chainsaw, eyes falling down to her console, watching the pings of the SAM site searching for them, its optical systems like the finger of an angry God, trying to reach up and swat them down from the sky. “Let’s try not to be a technical failure, okay?”

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” said Anne.

  CHAPTER 40

  Roof

  Hammerfall

  PAVLOV CLOSED THE LINK TO Anarchy. Of course the SAM battery was trying to kill their escape route. Of course it was. Nothing could ever go smoothly…why did things never go smoothly?

  No sense complaining about it. “Suggestions?” Pavlov asked the others. “If you got ‘em, now’s the time.”

  Dmitriev spat onto the rain-slick roof. “Should have suspected something when the third Stooge didn’t show up for the party,” he said. “Of course they would target the launcher.”

  “Now they have Chuchnova,” said Pavlov. “And they have a way of cutting the wings of our extraction.” In some ways, it simplified their jobs. They wouldn’t have to leave her in the launcher, but at the same time…

  “Don’t suppose you have any bright ideas,” said Ilyukhina to Dmitriev. “You rebels are supposed to be all imaginative and stuff.”

  “Cука блядь. Not really, unless the two of you want to take a stroll over and take it out.”

  Ilyukhina pointed to the hole in her leg. “Yeah, I’m in a skipping mood.”

  “I hate to point this out,” said Dmitriev, “but I think we’re screwed.”

  It was tempting to agree. It was tempting to just throw in the towel, admit defeat, and …lie there and watch the rain. Wait for whatever was going to happen to happen.

  But Pavlov wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “Yeah, see, we look like we’re totally fucked. But that’s our plan, see? To trick the enemy into attacking us when we’re weak.”

  “How does that possibly help us?”

  “You’re not thinking militarily, comrade.” Pavlov crouched beside Dmitriev. “It takes a Russian to take down a Russian. Whatever else we are, we’re Russians. That launcher is just a barrier. It’s something we can overcome. It’s a challenge. God didn’t lead us here to let us get infected by this craziness, or die pointlessly.”

  “Okay,” said Dmitriev, “so how do you think we can take down that launcher before the facility explodes below us?”

  Pavlov considered, flicking the magnification on his visor, zooming in as far as he could. He could barely see the launcher through the thick rain, but he could make out the outline, its lone missile pointing menacingly toward the sky. It was beyond the range of their rifles…but totally exposed. They had brought a sniper rifle for just this task, but of course, the crazies had used it against them.

  “If we had the BD-140,” he said, “I reckon I could hit it from here.”

  Dmitriev wiped rain away from his f
ace. “Well, we don’t.”

  “We don’t, that’s true,” said Pavlov, an idea hitting his head like a bolt of lightning. “But one of the scientists was using it during the attack. If we could get down, I could bring it back and take the shot.”

  “How are you going to get down there?” Ilyukhina spoke through gritted teeth, obviously in pain. “Did you forget about the tank?”

  “The tank’s on the other side of the building,” he said. “I think if I jump down to the landing pad, I can shimmy down one of the support beams, get the rifle, and then…” Pavlov had no idea how to get back up.

  Dmitriev shrugged off his backpack. “Here,” he said, rummaging through the large container, pulling out stacks of junk, followed by a spool of cable and a power winch. “Take this. It’s not long, it won’t reach to the ground from the roof…but it just might from the landing pad. Maybe.”

  Well, that was something. Not a complete solution, but it would do. “But how do I get back onto the roof?”

  “Wind it up, then throw it up here. If it jams, we’ll pull you up.” He glanced to Ilyukhina. “Well, I’ll pull you up anyway.”

  That didn’t seem possible. “Huh,” said Pavlov, turning the cable box over in his hands sceptically. “Does it…jam often?”

  “Sort of.”

  “This armour is very heavy,” said Pavlov.

  “Cука блядь, then I’ll pull very hard.”

  That would have to do. “As long as we get the rifle, I can take it out.”

  “You sure?” Dmitriev held up his hand to shield his eyes from the rain. “There’s a lot of, you know, humidity in the air…and that’s a hell of a distance.”

  “The BD-140 is a beast,” said Pavlov. “Nice heavy round, high velocity. Combined with my visor, there’s not a lot it can’t hit.”

  Ilyukhina twisted to look at the battery, too. “It’s right at maximum range,” she said, “and it’s a difficult shot in clear weather…but it’s doable.”

  Well, that settled it. “Won’t be long,” he said, picking up his rifle and making his way over to the edge of the roof, taking a quick look. It was an awfully long way down. This was not a good idea. “Don’t die until I get back.”

  “Eh,” said Ilyukhina, her blood washing away in pink streaks as the rain ran off the rooftop, “I’ll take that under consideration.”

  Pavlov steeled himself, took a deep breath, and then hooked his hands over the edge of the roof, taking hold of the slick metal. Wobbling uncertainly, he regretted drinking so much alcohol at once, only minutes before. It was hitting him hard now. He gingerly began lowering himself down, down, down…

  His fingers slipped and he plunged toward the landing pad.

  CHAPTER 41

  Roof

  Hammerfall

  THE WIND HOWLED AROUND HIM as he fell, like the voices of ghosts, mocking him for his drunken stupidity.

  He flailed uselessly, arms and legs thumping against the thick smart-steel walls of Hammerfall. His suit’s systems panicked, trying to process what was happening to him as he plummeted.

  Pavlov hit the walkway leading to the landing pad with a crunch.

  How long he lay there, a crumpled heap on the metal walkway, he wasn’t sure. Everything went fuzzy and distant. The rain beat against his armour. Finally, Dmitriev’s voice brought him around.

  “—n’t think he’s getting up. He’s just lying there.”

  From the entrance to Hammerfall, he could hear the station’s AI intoning constantly. “Warning. Reactor coolant leak. Stand by for damage control team deployment. This is not a drill.”

  Groaning feebly, Pavlov raised his head. “Did I black out for a second?”

  “More like a minute,” said Ilyukhina. “Maybe a bit less, bit more. Did you hit your head?”

  A period of unconsciousness of any length couldn’t have been good for his brain, but Pavlov took a breath and focused. Nothing seemed broken. “No,” he said. “Maybe.” His left arm was dangling over the edge, hanging above the twenty-metre drop straight down onto the jungle floor. If he’d slipped a bit further, he would have fallen to his death.

  Falling half to death was bad enough. Pavlov pulled his arm back. “I think I’m okay,” he said.

  “You think,” said Dmitriev. “Cука блядь!”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry, comrade. Falling was all part of my plan; raindrops are my spirit animal.” Pavlov dragged himself into a sitting position. He was sore, aching even, but he had a job to do. The thought of it focused him. He’d be in pain, but that was future-Pavlov’s problem. Plenty of time for that back on the Varyag. Back when he was safe.

  Groggily, Pavlov attached the magnetic tip of the cable to the edge of the landing strip, and the winch to a hook on his belt. Carefully—and with a lot more care than he had taken on the roof—Pavlov swung out over the edge and pressed the descend button. Slowly, and with a too-loud whine, the winch lowered him down into the mud, his boots hitting the ground with a splat.

  Back in the mud, like he’d never left. Only now he had a killer headache. And he didn’t even have any booze to kill that with.

  He’d have to live with it. Pavlov unclipped himself from the cable, unslung his rifle, and made his way over to the bush where he’d seen the BD-140. He prayed quietly as he looked for it, trying to avoid looking at any of the Separatist bodies.

  God, if you could give me a hand, I’d really appreciate—

  There. The BD-140, half buried in the mud and shredded plant leaves, the blood-splattered stock half hidden under the shredded remains of the bush. The body of one of the scientists lay nearby, riddled with holes, their death mask an eerie slasher smile.

  Pavlov picked up the rifle and opened the chamber. Still loaded, plenty of rounds left. He collected an armful of the detachable box magazines from the corpse—a difficult and disgusting task. The corpse had already started to bloat and rot in the wet jungle heat.

  “Sorry, comrade,” said Pavlov, “you tried your best. Glad you’re happy.”

  He half-jogged through the muddy remains of the battlefield, toward the cable array, and hooked himself back in. He gave the cord an experimental tug, just to make sure that it wouldn’t break.

  “Oh shit—” Dmitriev swore over the radio. There were gunshots from above—five in a burst, then two more.

  Then silence.

  CHAPTER 42

  Roof

  Hammerfall

  CУКА БЛЯДЬ. PAVLOV SLAMMED HIS finger into the ascend button, and the cable pool jerked to life. It wound itself up, stealing the slack and then pulling taunt, jerking him into the air. He swayed like a pendulum, twisting and spinning as the cable dragged him up toward the landing bay.

  “Ilyukhina! Dmitriev!”

  No response. Pavlov pressed ascend harder; the engine whined in complaint as it carried him, his armour, and his newly acquired heavy rifle up the wall.

  But it made it to the edge of the landing bay by some miracle. Pavlov hooked his arms around and pulled himself up, scrambling on the wet surface. He detached the cable and almost fell to the bottom again, slipping down to his armpits, digging his fingertips into the metal to hold on.

  Carefully, but with a strength granted by panic, Pavlov pulled himself up onto the wet metal.

  He wanted a moment. Just a moment to calm himself and steady his nerves, but every second he wasted was another second the others were in danger. Pavlov tossed the magnetic tip of the cable up onto the roof; it hummed faintly as it attached itself.

  Up he went again, unslinging the heavy sniper rifle and walking up the side of Hammerfall, his boots squeaking as they scuffed against the wet smart-steel. Up, up, up…

  He crested the ridge and saw Dmitriev lying in a bloody heap, two bleeding holes the size of a coin’s fist punched through his chest. Ilyukhina was still half sitting, half slumping, her rifle lying on the roof, streaked with blood.

  Pavlov crouched down on one knee. He caught the briefest flash of a suit of armou
r. Someone was hiding behind the box of the communications array. Pavlov raised the heavy sniper rifle and squeezed the trigger. The weapon roared like a wounded beast, a thunderous crack echoing off the surrounding hills.

  The round blasted a hole the size of a fist into the outer layer of metal. Sparks flew everywhere, falling with the raindrops, but it didn’t penetrate the box. Not completely.

  Smart-steel. Not even the monster could defeat such technological trickery.

  “You son of a bitch!” Pavlov chambered another round, waiting for an opportunity. He risked the briefest of glances to Ilyukhina. “You okay?”

  She didn’t say anything, her hands trembling slightly. She’d been hit again, near the shoulder—or was it closer to the neck?—and although her vitals still registered in a tiny box on his visor, he could see she was losing blood at an alarming rate.

  Too injured to say she was fine, too tough to die. She made a weak grasp for her rifle. Her hands didn’t seem to be working right. Moving with all the strength of an infant, she succeeded only in pushing the weapon further away from her.

  A dull explosion shook the roof of Hammerfall. The whole structure trembled, then settled, reminding him of the danger they faced. They were running out of time.

  “Hey, Marchenko, if we don’t get out of here soon, we’re all going to die.”

  “You think that’s a problem for me?” said Marchenko, his voice full of the same crazy joy. “Ask your friend Chuchnova. She’s seen the future. Seen what we can do when humanity truly, truly casts aside its moral weaknesses and flaws and works together for the common good.”

  “It’s true,” said Chuchnova, her voice strained with happiness even through the radio. “I’ve seen it, Pavlov. I’ve felt it—I feel it right now. It’s something else. Something amazing. More than a connection with a few friends, some family—it’s a connection with all of us. Every one. This is more than I could have ever hoped for…more than I dared to dream was even possible.”