by Chris Fox
"I've got your back, Duncan. Just stick close to me," Paterson said, clapping the newest member of the squad on the back.
"I don't need a babysitter," Duncan said, eyes flashing. The kid trotted up the corridor until he was even with Hannan. "Just show me where the Tigris are. I've been wanting a new lion-skin rug."
"Don't be an idiot," Hannan said, eyes narrowing. "Stay in position, and listen to Paterson. If you get out of line again, I'll toss your ass into the brig, private. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir," Duncan said, sullenly.
"Sarge," Mills called from up the corridor. He dropped to one knee next to the hatch leading down to B deck, one fist raised to indicate they should stop.
The squad froze, each making their profile as small as possible. Hannan glided forward, trying to be stealthy as she knelt next to Mills. "What have you got?"
"See for yourself," Mills whispered.
Hannan peered down the corridor. About forty meters away a bronze spike had shot through the hull. It filled the corridor, and the tip punched through the inner wall. The area around the breach was thick with viscous black fluid, which the Tigris used to prevent attacked vessels from depressurizing. She could see an outline along the metal spike, and knew immediately what it was.
"Boarding tube. They're going to pop out of there any second," she whispered. Hannan turned back to the quad, raising her arm and gesturing to the squad. They trotted forward, assuming defensive positions. Hannan waited until they were settled before speaking. "We'll have contact in a few seconds. As soon as that hatch opens they'll start pouring out. Let Mills pick them off. When they rush our position, cut them down. Let them come to us."
A sharp hiss sounded behind her, and Hannan whirled with a curse. The hatch along the spike slid down, and the first Tigris dropped into the hallway. It wore midnight armor that matched its fur well enough that she had a hard time knowing where the armor ended and fur began. The beast was taller than Edwards, and about twice as wide. It cradled a huge shotgun, a weapon the Tigris had adopted during the eight year war.
"End it, Mills," she whispered.
Mills brought the stock of his rifle to his shoulder, sighting down the scope. The motion was as smooth as it was fast, and less than two seconds later a sharp report echoed down the corridor. The bullet caught the Tigris above the left eye, and blood sprayed the bronze tube behind it as the beast collapsed to the deck.
Hannan ducked to the left side of the hatch as answering fire came from the Tigris. The corridor filled with the hot smell of gunpowder, and the pings of slugs biting into the other side of the hatch.
"They're going to rush us," Hannan called over the gunfire. "Get ready to push back."
She risked a glance around the hatch, and cursed when she saw the Tigris charging. Four black-furred cats bounded up the hallway, covering ten feet with every jump. She brought up the muzzle of her assault rifle and loosed a three round burst at the closest target. It caught the cat in the chest, but the heavy armor shunted the impact. The cat was knocked prone, but was otherwise unharmed.
Its companions bounded over it, and the first one leapt through the door. Edwards was waiting, and the deep angry booms of his TM-601 were deafening. The stream of slugs caught the cat in the face, sending it into a backwards spin. It flipped back through the doorway with a pitiful mew, but the next cat was already through. It landed next to Edwards, grabbing the barrel of his assault rifle with one hand.
It yanked the weapon from Edwards's grip, tossing it to the deck. Then the beast raked his armor with its claws, sending up a shower of sparks as Edwards toppled backwards. The cat leapt, pinning the big Marine to the deck as it savaged his neck armor with those massive jaws.
Another cat came through, but Duncan and Paterson were ready. Their combined fire drove the cat back, then a lucky shot from the kid caught the cat in the face. It slumped to the deck, its body straddling the hatch.
Hannan took a split second to assess, then decided that Edwards was most in need of help. She darted forward, ripping her sidearm from its holster. She planted the weapon against the back of the Tigris's skull, and squeezed the trigger. The beast's skull was thick, but not thick enough to take three high velocity rounds at close range. It collapsed onto Edwards, who groaned as he tossed the body aside.
"Thanks, Sarge," Edwards panted, his face and neck covered in blood. She hoped most of that was from the Tigris.
"Get some," Duncan yelled. Hannan's head snapped up, her stomach sinking when she saw what was happening.
Duncan had advanced past the hatch, into the hallway. There was no cover there, and he was completely unsupported. She was still rising to her feet when a black form flashed into view. It leveled its shotgun at Duncan's chest, and the weapon boomed. Duncan was picked up and hurled backwards, landing in a heap.
Paterson rushed into the corridor, unloading three-round bursts at the Tigris who'd shot Duncan. That Tigris went down, but answering fire from the other Tigris lit Paterson up. His body jerked as rounds punched through his armor, and he finally collapsed to the deck. Hannan knew he was dead.
"Mills," she snarled. "I'll lay down suppressive fire. I want dead cats, and I want them now."
"Dead cats I can do," he said. It was all he had to say. Hannan knew that Mills had more cause than most to hate the Tigris. His parents had been on a freighter wiped out by Tigris, during the war.
Hannan dropped to one knee, shielding her body with the hatch as much as possible. She switched her weapon to full auto, and sprayed the corridor with a quarter clip's worth of rounds. There were only three targets remaining, and all three ducked when she began firing.
Mills brought his rifle up. It coughed once. Twice. Three times. All three cats collapsed to the deck.
Hannan stopped firing, her chest heaving as she surveyed the carnage.
"We did it," Duncan said, stumbling awkwardly to his feet. His armor had been punctured over his right shoulder, which explained how he'd survived a Tigris shotgun blast. His gap-toothed grin made Hannan want to punch him. "We downed a Tigris boarding party. Hell yes."
"Shut up, kid," Mills said. "We got lucky."
"What do you mean?" Duncan said, blinking. He was unaware of the blood coming from Paterson's body, just a couple feet away.
"These weren't elites," Hannan said, wearily. She moved down to Paterson, gently closing his eyes. She gave Duncan a hard look. "These are nothing more than privateers, not true Leonis Pride. If we'd fought elites all of us would be dead, thanks to that stunt you pulled."
Chapter 4- Cat and Mouse
"Emo," Nolan called, rising from his chair and moving toward the pilot's chair. "I want you to decelerate."
"You want me to do what? Are you crazy?" Emo said, darting a look Nolan's way that left no doubt how he felt about Nolan's sanity. He looked around to the rest of the bridge crew. "Where's the captain? This guy is going to get us killed."
"Ensign Gaden, I gave you a direct order," Nolan snapped. He seized the back of Emo's chair, the adrenaline surging through him. "Do it. Slow down to seventy-five percent acceleration."
Nolan spun to face the comm officer. "Juliard, tell Engineering to shut down engine number four."
"Aye, sir," Juliard responded, her voice calm. Though her expression showed a healthy dose of fear, she bent to her terminal and began punching in commands.
Nolan released Emo's chair and moved back to his own, eyes fixed on the view screen as he waited to see if his tactic would work.
"Sir, the Tigris are closing the gap between us. They'll be in range to grapple in nine seconds," Emo said, spinning his chair to face Nolan.
"I'm aware of that. When they're three seconds out, I want you to do a full burn in the three active engines. That should get us into that asteroid field," Nolan ordered, forcing himself to lean back in the chair.
"Ahh, I see what you're up to," Captain Dryker said, ducking through the hatch. He carried a plate of the yellow protein that passed for eggs, but tasted a lot more like styr
ofoam. "You want them to think we're more wounded than we are, that their boarding teams disabled an engine. Don't let me interrupt."
Nolan clenched a fist, then took a deep breath. Putting him in charge had been the worst kind of recklessness, but he'd only have a chance to be angry about it if they survived the next three minutes.
"The Tigris warship is following us into the asteroid field," Emo warned. He tilted the stick, and the Johnston bucked wildly as it swerved around an asteroid that dwarfed both itself and the pursuing warship.
Nolan was silent as Emo expertly threaded their way through the asteroid field. They passed within a dozen feet of chunks of rock large enough to crush their vessel. The Tigris warship showed up as a red blip on the mini-map in the corner of the display. It was close, but no longer gaining.
"Juliard, connect me to Engineering," he ordered, again forcing himself to relax in the chair. His next move was a gamble. If it paid off, they had a chance. If not--well, at least he wouldn't be around to be chastised for it.
"You're live, sir," Juliard said.
"Engineering, I want you to ignite engine four on my mark. Give it everything you've got," he ordered, leaning forward and raising a hand even though he knew they couldn't see it. Nolan watched the view screen as the Johnston plunged deeper into the asteroid field. Rocks of all sizes flew around them, and it was a testament to Emo's skill that they survived.
The Tigris vessel hadn't broken off, but the gap had widened as the cats struggled to keep up. They were bigger and faster, but less maneuverable.
"Mark," Nolan said, dropping his hand. The ship surged as the fourth engine came back online. "Emo, use that large asteroid as cover, then bring us about."
"Acknowledged, sir," Emo said, pouring on the speed. Nolan's stomach lurched as the vessel passed under the largest asteroid they'd yet seen. He couldn't actually feel the inertia, but his eyes tricked his body into thinking it could.
They passed under the asteroid and, as soon as it screened them from the Tigris, Emo flipped the vessel. The ship came about, its nose aimed in the direction from which the Tigris would appear.
"Ezana, warm up the main cannon," Nolan ordered.
"Target, sir?" the chief asked, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead.
"Use the turrets to soften up that depression at the base of the asteroid. Fire the main cannon into the rift that opens up," Nolan ordered, studying the asteroid. "Hold your fire until the moment the Tigris vessel comes into view."
The next eight seconds were the most tense of Nolan's life. He'd never been in a real ship-to-ship combat, and he had that eternity to contemplate the consequences of his plan. If it didn't work, they'd be helpless.
"Fire," Nolan roared, the instant the sleek body of the enemy ship appeared below them.
The gauss cannons began their staccato, sending slug after slug into the asteroid. A deep hum built within the bowels of the ship, then rose to a high-pitched whine. The Johnston's main gun--the most powerful weapon humanity had ever developed--fired a tank-sized hunk of depleted uranium into the asteroid with the force of a many-megaton bomb.
The shot sent a magnetic ripple from the barrel, as the cannon dispersed the excess energy. The rift they'd fired into became a canyon; a quarter of the massive asteroid peeled off as the explosion flung it straight into the Tigris vessel. The ship was tough, its tritanium hull strong enough to deal with the stresses of entering a star. But it wasn't tough enough to deal with the impact of thousands of tons of dense rock.
The Tigris vessel exploded in a brilliant shower of debris, and the bridge crew began to cheer.
Chapter 5- Egg Breath
Nolan's chest was heaving, more from adrenaline than true exertion. The clapping died down and he was left staring at Captain Dryker, who was still spooning eggs into his mouth. Dryker stared back, unperturbed.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Nolan demanded, something hot slithering into his vision. "We could have all been killed. You abandoned your command during combat."
"What the hell were you thinking, sir," Dryker corrected mildly. He set his now-empty plate on top of a nearby monitor, then turned back to Nolan. "You came to us from Fleet Command, did you not?"
"Yes, but I don't see what that has to do with anything," Nolan said. He was aware of the heat in his voice, aware that he was addressing a superior officer.
"It has everything to do with the situation," Dryker said, narrowing his eyes. "I wanted to see what you were made of, Commander. You have precisely zero combat experience. You were too young to fight in the Tigris war, and your resumé says you're an analyst."
"That's why I have such an issue with your behavior," Nolan shot back, rising from the captain's chair. "If I'd frozen up, we'd all be dead. You were reckless, sir."
"Was I?" Dryker said, rolling the words around as if he were trying to decide if he liked the way they tasted. "I won't have an officer on my ship who can't fight, Commander. You're green, and you need experience. Guess how you get that experience?"
Nolan was silent for a moment as he considered his reply. He didn't have time before the captain plunged ahead.
"You know who I am. You know what I did in the war," Dryker said, folding his arms as he speared Nolan with his gaze. "I needed to know that you were competent, and that you could think on your feet. I was close enough to resume command if you couldn't handle it."
"I still disagree with the decision," Nolan protested. He wasn't quite ready to let it go, but didn't know what he could accomplish by pushing the issue.
"I know. I disagree with you being posted here in the first place, but we're the 14th. We haven't seen new equipment since before the Tigris war. We work with what little Fleet gives us," Dryker said. He gave a heavy sigh. "I've read your dossier, Commander. I know what they say about you. That you can't keep it in your pants, and getting caught with the wrong admiral's daughter is how you lost your cushy Fleet gig and ended up here."
"Respectfully, you can go frag yourself, sir."
"Well, you've got some fire at least," the captain said. He turned to Juliard. "Lieutenant, have Hannan's squad head to the shuttle bay. The commander will be joining them for a little jaunt to the planet."
"Jaunt to the planet?" Nolan found himself asking. He clenched both fists, willing himself to take deep breaths.
"That's right," Dryker said, turning back to him. His brown eyes bored into Nolan. "You're on a combat vessel now, Nolan. You don't get to push paper and chase skirts. We work for a living out there. You've been trained as an OFI field agent, so this should be a cake walk. We were called here to investigate the sudden silence of the Mar Kona colony. It's high time we were about that, wouldn't you say?"
"Sir, is it wise to have command personnel leave the vessel?" Nolan said, in one last attempt to get the captain to see reason.
"We do things differently out there, Commander," Dryker said, leaning in close. Now his breath smelled of fake eggs and coffee. "You're going planet side, because we want someone with command authority in a position to react quickly. We don't know what to expect down there. Now get your ass off my bridge and down to the shuttle bay."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Commander?" Dryker said as Nolan moved for the hatch.
Nolan paused.
"Nice work. You've got a real head for tactics."
Chapter 6- Meet the Marines
Nolan wasn't sure what the hell to think as he made his way below decks. The ship wasn't massive, but corridors were tight and it took several minutes to reach the shuttle bay. During that time, he alternated between being pleased that he'd commanded his first combat and being angry at the Captain's actions.
Dryker was a hero. He'd been one of the last five people to survive the Tigris attack on the Elbas station, and it had been that battle that led to the Tigris offering a truce. Dryker was a legend.
Of course, Dryker had also been exiled to the 14th fleet while all four of his contemporaries had moved into the admiralty. After to
day, Nolan was pretty sure he understood why.
Nolan ducked through the final hatch and into the single largest room on the Johnston. It was about fifty feet across and thirty feet wide, with the vast majority of the space taken up by a sleek black shuttle. Four people were already clustered outside of it, and as Nolan approached he heard a booming laugh.
It came from a man roughly the size and shape of a brick wall. His beard was even the right shade for the comparison. The man had a bandage around his neck--and he wasn't the only wounded member of the group. Another Marine, this one still in his teens, was drenched in blood. It covered the back of his TX-11 armor, and a hasty patch had been applied to what looked to be Tigris slug hole in the front.
"Attention," barked a third figure, the shortest of the lot. She was pretty, in a severe sort of way. Her scalp looked recently shaved, and her armor was dented and scarred from repeated use.
Both wounded Marines snapped to attention, as did the woman who'd spoken. The last figure, a man with corporal's stars, sat calmly on an ammo crate, carefully using a rag to clean the inside of the barrel of a sniper rifle. He looked up and nodded at Nolan, but didn't rise or salute.
"Is there a problem, Corporal...?" Nolan said, folding his arms.
"Mills," the man said, looking up from his rifle. "Yeah, there's a problem. Word is you're a womanizing paper pusher who's never seen combat."
"Since this is our first meeting, I'm going to let your insubordination slide," Nolan said, staring Mills down. "You don't know anything about me, Corporal. Don't judge me until your own morality has been tested. You have no idea what happened, or what I was asked to do."
"Mills, I've had about enough of this shit," the short woman said, her voice calm. She took two steps forward, then wound up and clocked the seated Marine in the jaw. He crashed to the deck, then scrambled to his feet.
Mills's face tightened in anger as he regained his feet, but he looked apologetically at the woman who'd knocked him on his ass. "Sorry, Sarge."
