"What happened?" Esposito yelled.
"He's dead. That kid."
She paused, "He died for nothing if you don't get a move on. Come on!"
Hand over hand, they all descended the ladder, taking twists and turns to throw off pursuit while not adding too much to the time. Periodically a cry to 'stop' would echo up the crawlway as a trooper's imagination ran away with him, twice there was the ring of a gunshot as one of them took Esposito's order to heart, then the slow descent would resume. Orlova tried not to think about what had happened up above, and took a look at her wrist computer; twenty-nine minutes to go.
"One level up, ma'am," Kozo said. "I think we should come out here, take them by surprise."
"Agreed. Everyone hang back. Same as before, another burst before you leave. I want everyone into cover outside in thirty seconds. Go, Sergeant."
The hatch was stiff from lack of use; it took Kozo and Kamio together to move it, and before the sergeant could raise his weapon, a pair of shots rang inside the hatchway, one of them catching Kamio in the shoulder. The corporal lost his hold on the ladder, and began to fall, his cries of pain slowly fading as he dropped. Kozo sprayed a pair of bursts into the corridor then leapt out, hurling himself to the floor and continuing to fire, while the rest of the squad cautiously made their way out. Orlova emerged, last out of the crawlway, after the action was over; two of the espatiers were on the floor clutching wounds, and a trio of dead bodies lay sprawled across a hastily improvised barricade.
"Medics will be here in a few minutes. Can you two man the barricade?" Esposito said to the injured troopers.
"Aye, ma'am. We'll hold the line."
"Good. We're counting on you." She looked at the rest of the squad, now down to six men and the pilots, "Let's move out!"
Kozo took the lead again as they raced down the corridor, all of them with guns at the ready. The sounds of a pitched battle were all around them; forward elements were making periodic assaults on these levels, and the cries of the dead and the dying echoed in between the crack of gunfire and the muffled nose of smoke grenades. Orlova looked ahead at the door, and just before Kozo was about to reach it, raised her hand.
"Everyone down!"
The troopers instantly obeyed her command; Esposito looked back, "What's up?"
"Door's trapped. Give me a minute and I can disarm it."
"What is it?"
"Old-fashioned tripwire. See the grenades on the side?"
"Get back."
Orlova placed her hand on her friend's shoulder, "Gabi, I can do this."
"We haven't got the time and I can't risk you. Everyone get to the back of the corridor and get down."
The troopers raced back to the barricade, dropping themselves into cover, while Esposito grabbed a piece of support strut that had been shot from the wall in a previous battle. She made ready to swing it towards the door, until Kozo grabbed it on her final upswing, shaking his head.
"Can't risk you either, Ensign. This one's my job."
"Sergeant, get back. That's an order."
He grinned, white teeth bared, "Feel free to have me court-martialed later. Get back with the others, ma'am."
She looked up at him, nodded, then dived onto the floor in front of Orlova and Warren. Kozo swung the strut once, twice, then made a run at the barricade, throwing the strut towards the tripwire and jumping back from the door. It spun end-over-end in the air as it caught the tripwire perfectly, setting off the grenades. Fire and smoke raced up the corridor for a brief second, starting a wave of choking from the troopers, and there was a large gaping hole in the wall; the door itself was in fragments on the floor. Esposito raced up to the sergeant, half-buried under a mass of ceiling.
"Sergeant! Say something!"
He looked up, attempting to focus his eyes, shaking the dust out of his hair, "That was fun, ma'am. I think I'll let someone else have a try next time, though."
"You fit?"
"Ready for anything, ma'am."
"Someone else can take point. I think you've done your job." She pointed to a wiry trooper wearing Lance-Corporal's stripes, and motioned him to the front; the young espatier grinned, nodded, and hefted his rifle as he peered around the remains of the door, flames still flickering around the floor. The squad picked themselves up from the ground and started to advance again; the ladder on the other side of the door was twisted and bent, much of it lying on the lower level.
"I can jump that," Orlova said.
"No need." Esposito uncoiled a cable from around her waist, pulled at a bar to make sure it would hold her weight, then tied it off, dropping the other end to the ground. The lead trooper grinned again and leapt out onto the cable, sliding himself nimbly down to the bottom, and swinging out at the end to dive into cover – a useful precaution as a series of shots rang out around him. He grinned again and fired a couple of shots into the gloom.
"Damn." Esposito looked out at the swinging cable, measuring whether she should have a try and going down to provide reinforcement, when Kozo made the decision for her, running past her and leaping at the cable, sending it swinging back and forth. As a pair of bullets flew past him, he used the swing to catapult himself out of sight into the corridor below, taking a series of shots. Grinning, Orlova followed him, nimbly sliding down the cable into a pile of still-hot cover. She could see a trio of men with rifles in the corridor, all of them well concealed, as well as one on the floor.
Kozo looked around, shaking his head at the unarmored Orlova, and said, "On three. Two. One. Now."
The three of them rolled quickly out of cover and spilled shots into the enemy, watching two of them fall to the ground; the lance-corporal rolled back moaning, clutching his shoulder, blood oozing out between his fingers. Grimacing, Orlova pulled a bandage out of her medikit and started to slap it on while Kozo leapt out of cover, weaving from side to side as he spilled gunfire into the remaining guard who surrendered; the sergeant accepted the surrender with the butt of his rifle, sending the guard into unconsciousness.
"Was that necessary?" Warren said, swinging down the cable.
"Couldn't spare anyone to guard him, sir. He'll be fine when he wakes up, a while from now."
After the last two firefights, they had just nineteen minutes to get into their fighters; Warren gathered everyone round while Kozo watched the door into the hangar bay, hoping that they delay wouldn't give their adversaries time to organize a counter-attack. The lieutenant, his usual cheery demeanor dropped, looked at his wingmates.
"Both of you know the score. We get out as many of us as possible, but don't wait. If you see a chance, take it, and never mind the rest." He shook his head, "No time to change into flight suits, no time for any real pre-flight. If you have a green board, call control and have them toss you out, then implement the intercept course." Smiling, he said, "Just run like hell and hope for the best."
Nodding, Esposito took a position on the left side of the door, Kozo on the right, and motioned for the rest of the squad to stand back, guns at the ready. They looked very different than the mob that had started out just twenty minutes ago; all of them were battle-hardened now, prepared for this last action. With a hacking motion, Kozo opened the door, and charged into the bay.
It seemed clear, and none of them had any time to question it. Warren, Esposito and Orlova ran into the hangar bay, making sure to zig-zag as they sped across the deck, racing for their interceptors, while the rest of the squad followed up to provide covering fire if it was needed. For the first twenty paces, it looked as if they were going to make it; the three interceptors sat at the far end of the bay, apparently undamaged and ready to launch.
A long burst of fire ran between the three pilots, sending them all diving for any convenient cover; Warren was behind a pair of crates, while Esposito and Orlova had dropped into a maintenance pit, the bottom covered with sticky brown goo, the residue of some recent repair that had yet to be cleaned prior to the uprising. Bullets cracked all around them, sending them
down deeper into cover, the slightest movement rewarded with the fear of imminent death. At the rear, Kozo and the remnants of his squad were providing covering fire, but they couldn't make out where the sniper was sitting with his machine rifle; there were a hundred small hidden spaces were he could be lying in wait.
Once the espatiers got into cover, another cluster of syndicate troops appeared from their hiding places, opening up with shots. None of them were hitting their targets, but they were getting worryingly close for comfort. On a hunch, Orlova poked her head out from the pit, a bullet flying close to her before Esposito dragged her back down into cover.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" the Ensign said.
"They don't want us dead."
A look of incredulity on her face, Esposito replied, "You've got to be crazy." Another burst of shots rang out. "Sounds like they want us dead to me."
"They can calculate courses just like we can. They're not out to kill us, just to pin us down until we can't intercept the Maru. I'd bet my last month's pay that they'll surrender then."
"Maybe. But why spare us?"
"They'll need us. Their whole plan is based around fighting the Republic, right? Well the three of us are the only fighter pilots around. We'll be needed to defend this station – they can't kill us, just threaten us."
"You want to go up and take a stroll to test your theory?"
"Not especially." She looked at her watch again, continuing, "But in seventeen minutes, all of this is moot. I'm willing to make a dash for it."
Esposito sighed, shaking her head, "You out for a medal?"
"Just to get the job done. They want to give me some jewelry afterward, that's up to the brass."
With a wry smile, Esposito pulled out her communicator, "Warren, this is Esposito. We're going to make a run for it in exactly seventy seconds from...mark."
"Seventy seconds. Crazy. Wilco."
"Sergeant Kozo?"
After a few seconds, the gruff voice replied, "Here, Ensign."
"We're getting ready to make a dash to the interceptors, Sergeant. I want full covering fire in sixty-two seconds, mark."
"Understood. Good luck."
She looked at the communicator again before replacing it securely in her belt, then looked puzzled at the back, saying, "I was rather expecting him to try and talk me out of it."
"From what I've seen, all senior espatier NCOs specialize in mad heroics. This is probably normal procedure."
"I don't remember them teaching that at ROTC. Ten seconds."
It was then that they realized why Kozo hadn't tried to talk her out of it; they heard a loud yell from behind them, and the Sergeant leapt up, racing towards the interceptors, periodically spilling bursts of fire from the rifle in his hand. His troops were providing supporting fire, shooting at anything that moved. Esposito looked at him, shaking her head.
"Crazy bastard." She glanced down at her watch, continuing, "Our turn now! Go and don't look back!"
Tossing her pistol aside, as otherwise she might be tempted to actually make some use of it, Orlova sprinted towards her interceptor. This time she wasn't bothering to zig-zag, deciding instead to save the time and trust that her theory was right, that the enemy would shoot to scare rather than to kill. As a series of shots rang out next to her, she realized they were succeeding, a loud cry from the back, followed by a thud, told her that someone had found a mark, and she took a half-second to glance behind her, seeing Kozo lying on the deck, coughing with blood running out of his arms.
Her interceptor was just ahead. The mess on her shoes was making it harder for her to sprint, the deck feeling slippery underfoot, and she almost slid towards the airlock on her interceptor, dropping down to her knees in front of the hatch. No time for an outside inspection, no time for her to check on her friends, no time to see what had happened to the sergeant; she slapped her hand on the door release and leapt inside, grimacing as a bullet nicked her shoulder – evidently they had decided to finish her at the last second after all. Slapping her hand on it, she pulled it away to find no blood, just a long cut down her uniform top; that sniper was good.
Sliding into her couch, she plugged her key into the socket, the controls arranging themselves in the familiar way. The status board looked green, a couple of amber alerts with non-critical systems that she decided to ignore. Tapping the override button five times to pass through the pre-flight checks in record time, she placed a headset on, tapping to call the command level.
"Raven Four to Launch Control. Ready to go."
The strangely calm voice of Ensign Matsumoto echoed in her ear, "Engaging launch mechanism now. Our navigational computers are feeding you guidance data. Good luck."
With a lurch, her interceptor started to descend into the deck, the hull ringing as bullets started to tear into it, a mark of desperation. Short of an exceptionally lucky shot, there wasn't much regular ammunition could do other than scratch the paintwork a bit. She remembered her shoulder, then started to will the interceptor down, trying to relax into her crash couch. A warning came up as the course calculations were fed into the computer; it was warning her that if this course was followed, there would be insufficient fuel for a return to the station. Despite knowing all of this before she left, she hesitated for a second before tapping the override again, then settled down to prepare for the burn.
The launch cycle finished, and she felt the familiar sensation of free fall once again; it had never been so comforting, though it would be brief; the computer was in full control now, another series of warnings flashing across her display, alerting her that there was a risk of losing consciousness during the burn. As long as she woke up before the battle, that wasn't important; she settled herself into her couch, waiting for the engine to start.
When it came, the pressure pushed her back into the protective cushioning, leaving her gasping for breath as the acceleration ramped up. The engine was firing at the limits of its design tolerance, fuel being spent at a furious pace in the desperate desire to gain as much speed as possible.
A target track appeared in front of her, showing her trajectory beginning to align with that of the Maru; she focused on that in a desperate desire to remain conscious, to remain in control of the situation, despite being unable to move so much as a little finger. Blackness began to seep into her peripheral vision, and she desperately fought to keep her focus, the roar of the engines drowning out everything else, as if she was adrift in a sea of fire and pain, before finally everything went dark.
A loud siren echoed through her brain, forcing her eyes open. She was floating again, her restraints drifting by her side – in the panic of takeoff, she'd failed to strap herself in, but the acceleration had done that job for her. Flicking switches, she looked up at the course again, and smiled. Exactly as projected; they would be in combat range with the Maru in three and a half hours, exactly as calculated. There was even a little fuel left over, a maneuvering margin. There was only one question left.
"Raven Four to Ravens. Speak to me." Only silence replied, silence and static, as she tried again, "Raven Four to Ravens. Do you read me."
"Raven Leader here," the strong voice of Warren replied. "Just came round after the burn. I saw that sniper get you as you got into your bird; all well?"
"Raven Four replying. I'm fine, just going to need a new uniform top when we get back to Alamo."
"Raven Five here. All systems nominal, on course."
Warren seemed to have regained some of his perkiness as he replied, "Good stuff, excellent. Might as well get going on the pre-flight checks now, make sure these birds are intact. Then get on your computers and do your homework on the Maru. Talk again in thirty minutes, out."
Grabbing a drink from an overhead compartment, Orlova hunched over her control panel to start her checks, as a countdown to combat appeared on the display in front of her, ticking down second upon second.
Chapter 25
The backlog of reports in Marshall's terminal didn't seem
to be getting any smaller, no matter how much work he put into it. He'd taken to using the paperwork as a distraction from more pressing concerns, a means to occupy time when there was no other means available, but today the numbers and words didn't seem to mean anything to him. Physically, he was sitting in his office; mentally, he was out in one of those three cockpits heading towards the Maru, and it seemed so real to him that his office was more like the dream.
More than a hundred times during the war, he'd flown missions just like the one he had just ordered; he could picture every detail of the flight, every inch of the control panel, was working out in his head the maneuvers he would implement. The chime sounded on his door, and it slid open to admit Cunningham, who tentatively stepped in.
"Busy, sir?"
"Not at all. Have a seat."
The wing commander walked in, carefully sitting on the desk, his face unreadable, eyes wandering as if they were elsewhere; Marshall knew exactly where. He started looking around the office, up at the picture on the wall.
"That's your father, isn't it?"
"Last picture I have of him, from before he left on his last mission. Taken at my graduation from the Academy."
"It can't have been easy for you."
Marshall nodded, replying, "It wasn't. It would have been too easy to hate the enemy, to take it out of them. I think I managed never to make it personal, but I suppose I'll never know for sure."
"I would have been tempted."
Glancing up at the clock, Marshall remarked, "Shouldn't you be in your quarters? I thought I ordered the senior staff to get some rest."
Fermi's War Page 21
