“They’re not following, sir.”
“They will,” said Duggan through gritted teeth. They’ve got to.
The Vraxar could be predictable on occasion and now was one of those times. The larger Vraxar ship gave chase and Duggan detected something ponderous about it – a hint which only an experienced eye could detect.
“It’s old and damaged,” he said.
The enemy ship gathered speed. The higher it went, the less friction it encountered from the atmosphere. Duggan followed, doing his best to keep the Ulterior-2 on a parallel course.
“We’ve cleared the outer edges of the atmosphere,” said Cruz.
“The Vraxar spacecraft will no longer crater on New Earth,” said Bailey.
It was all Duggan needed to hear.
“Sergeant Li, Ensign Park. Target the enemy with everything we have and blow them into pieces.”
“Yes, sir!”
The Ulterior-2 was every bit as tightly-packed with weapons as a Ghast Oblivion and Duggan was delighted to put it to the test.
“Targeting Havoc cannons,” said Li.
Park fumbled with the controls. “I am attempting to lock on with Shimmers. Particle beams are coming.”
The Havoc cannons fired – the two uppers, one lower and the nose gun fired at the same time. The enemy ship was only a few hundred kilometres away, its front quarter softened by heat. The Havoc projectiles crashed through the plating, causing terrible damage. The Ulterior-2 shook and one of the automated alarms kicked in, blaring loudly. Duggan turned it off without thinking.
“Awaiting reload of Havoc cannons.”
“Ensign Park?” asked Duggan quietly.
“On it, sir. Firing front overcharged particle beams. No angle for the rears.”
Two of the Ulterior-2’s high-intensity energy beams raked through the structure of the enemy warship, sending the already-hot metal way past melting point. A thousand cubic metres or more of the Vraxar battleship’s flank exploded outwards, filling the void with a million tiny new stars, their lives measured in fleeting minutes.
Ensign Park’s struggles would not be helped by bad tempers and raised voices. Duggan had already locked the Shimmers onto the enemy craft and his finger hovered over the launch button.
“Got them!” shouted Park.
The Hadron was packing thirty-six Shimmer launchers, not all of which could target an enemy as close as the Vraxar battleship. Twenty of the enormously rapid and hugely expensive armour-piercing missiles flew from their launch tubes, armed themselves and collided with the enemy warship in less than half a second. The results were catastrophic and the huge craft was torn asunder right across its midsection.
The Havoc cannons finished their reload and Li fired again, a sheen of sweat on his forehead the only sign of the stress he was under. The thunder of the guns was accompanied by a different sound – that of overstressed metal tearing.
“What the hell?” asked Li, immediately out of his depth.
“Our front underside Havoc cannon is gone,” said Ensign Park. “I don’t think we took a hit from anywhere.”
“We didn’t,” said Duggan. He swore. “The force of the shot tore it away from the hull.”
The Havoc cannons had done enough. The front piece of the enemy vessel was twisted and mangled, smashed out of shape. Before Duggan was able to decide if the battleship was completely out of action, the sensor feed turned entirely white. When it cleared, there was nothing which could be readily identified as the warship which had hung over the Tucson base for these past hours.
“That was the Sciontrar,” said Cruz. “The Ghasts launched eleven hundred missiles.”
“They like fireworks, Lieutenant. They always have.”
“Oh crap.”
Duggan jerked around in his chair. “Lieutenant Cruz?”
“A projectile just hit the Sciontrar’s shield. A second one went through.”
The main bulkhead screen showed the details. A huge gauss slug had crunched into the rear section of the Ghast battleship, crumpling the metal and leaving a thousand metres of it misshapen. A third projectile hit and then a fourth. The Sciontrar was spun around by the force of it and twisted sections of armour plate tumbled away. All of a sudden, the Oblivion winked out of existence, leaving the Ulterior-2 alone to face the might of Ix-Gorghal.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Viewed from up close, the Earth’s Fury made Captain Blake shiver with a peculiar mix of fear and wonder. The spaceship looked like something designed by a child – straight edges, flat sides and with a slight tapering being the only indication it had a nose. The gun, however, was something else. The main barrel was a fifteen hundred metres long and slender enough to break from a single missile strike. It didn’t matter – there was something overtly threatening about the complicated array of beams, cylinders and connecting tubes. It seemed ancient, yet also like something from a thousand years in the future; a weapon to either save humanity or to amuse the capricious whims of a supremely powerful, unknown race who watched the Confederation’s struggles from afar.
The lifter shuttle hung in the air above the rear of Earth’s Fury. In normal circumstances, it would have been easy enough to lower the Obsidiar magazine dangling from the gravity chains into the loading slot for the Shield Breaker gun. Once the magazine was lowered into this slot, gravity clamps would drag it into the chamber deep inside the spaceship.
“Those repeaters are pissing me off,” said Blake.
Shots from the ground clattered against the shuttle and the magazine. The Ulterior-2 had been exceptionally effective in clearing the area, but wasn’t able to kill the Vraxar who remained out of sight behind the Earth’s Fury. The enemy had no missile launchers with them and were targeting the shuttle with three heavy repeaters and a single wide-bore gun. The repeaters were no problem – it was the wide-bore which would cause the damage. Consequently, Blake had spent the last few minutes moving the shuttle this way and that across the upper section of the Earth’s Fury, whilst the Vraxar tried their best to get a clear shot with the big gun.
It was a stalemate and Blake was conscious of the passing time. Before he could figure out a solution, several additional distractions arrived, one after the other.
“That’s the Sciontrar!” he said, watching the sensor feed.
“That thing is hot and travelling fast,” said Hawkins. “Where’s the battleship?”
The answer wasn’t long in coming and the Vraxar spaceship rumbled across the base in a direct line after the Oblivion.
“Come on, Nil-Tras,” said Quinn. “Get those bastards.”
Before Blake was able to resume his efforts at loading the Shield Breaker, the Ulterior-2 took off with such suddenness it would have been easy to miss were he not already watching the sensor screen. One minute it was in its trench, the next it was rising vertically at speed.
“Battle is joined,” he said.
“That means we need to move this along, sir,” said Pointer, patting him on the shoulder.
Her words brought him back to the unfinished task. “I need thirty seconds clear above the load slot. I’m not getting anything like that much time before the gun gets us in its sights.”
“They should have fitted these lifter shuttles with nose cannons, huh?” said Quinn.
The words were an expression of frustration; nevertheless, they gave Blake an idea.
“Lieutenant McKinney!” he shouted.
“Sir?”
The tiny inner space of the shuttle was packed with soldiers – one hundred men and women somehow squeezed onto the steps, the antechamber and into the cockpit. It was cramped and uncomfortable for everyone.
“How’s about the soldiers near the exit door open it up and start dropping grenades?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll get on with it.” There was a moment in which McKinney drew in his breath, before he bellowed down the stairs. “Who’s at the bottom?”
Blake didn’t hear the answer and didn’t need to. McKinney
shouted again.
“Webb, if you can knock out that wide-bore I’ll make sure Garcia buys you a drink next time we’re off duty.”
“I’m hard up, sir,” called Garcia.
A few of the others jeered and McKinney demanded silence. A warning light informed Blake the lifter’s outer door was open.
“He’s ready when you are, sir.”
“I’ll move us into position.”
Blake piloted the shuttle out from the cover provided by the Earth’s Fury. He knew Webb was on top of his game and didn’t give him much time. A plasma rocket shrieked just as Blake took the shuttle out of sight once again.
“Well?” called McKinney. “Right, I’ll let him know.”
“Is it done?” asked Blake.
“He reckons he scored a direct hit, sir. One more for luck.”
“One more it is.”
He took the shuttle sideways and the sound of a repositioned heavy repeater began again. Blake cursed it under his breath. Webb fired a second rocket and Blake took the shuttle into cover.
“Webb?” yelled McKinney. “Right, I’ll let him now.”
“What about this time?” asked Blake.
“One wide-bore out of action, sir. Three mobile repeaters remaining.”
“Screw the repeaters,” said Blake. “Tell him to close the door.”
The outer door closed and Blake took the lifter shuttle straight into position. The Obsidiar magazine hung below, suspended by the invisible forces of the gravity chains. He ignored the repeater fire and brought the craft carefully lower, making fine adjustments to the length of the chains. With a grunt of relief, Blake got the magazine into place and allowed the Earth’s Fury to take over the loading. The chamber mechanism severed the chains and the magazine disappeared into the depths of the ship. A protective plate slid across the opening.
“Done. Now we can get on with business.”
There was plenty of space amongst the support beams and cross-braces of the Shield Breaker. Blake set the shuttle down a quarter of the way in from the edge and next to a cylinder which had a diameter of five hundred metres and was half as much tall. It was part of the gun’s power source, though he couldn’t remember how it worked.
“Time to get out,” said Blake. He tried to stand and realised how tight it was in the cockpit. One of the soldiers was pressed against the back of the pilot’s seat, making it hard for Blake to get up.
“Sorry, sir.”
The soldiers tumbled from the shuttle, glad to be outside in the rain, if only for a brief spell. By the time Blake and the crew exited, the squad was already muttering about how much better it was to be dry.
McKinney was nearby.
“We’re equidistant from two of the maintenance shafts,” he said. “I don’t know which is closest to the bridge.”
“The central one,” said Blake. “That takes us to within a couple of hundred metres of the bridge entrance door.”
“What if they got onto the bridge and trashed it?”
“The door should only open to maintenance personnel. I doubt they’ve had time to blow it.” Blake shrugged. “This is either going to work or it isn’t.”
There were five squads of twenty, already organised by McKinney. Without comms, there was more confusion than usual and it took additional seconds until everyone was ready. They kept their suit visors on top of their heads and a hundred pairs of eyes watched Blake and McKinney.
“Let’s get moving!” shouted McKinney.
The central maintenance shaft was on the far side of the power cylinder. Blake and McKinney set off in the lead and the others followed. Something inside the cylinder squealed softly. The sound wormed its way into Blake’s chest and stomach, and made him feel queasy within a few seconds. He stepped away from it and heard the men behind him also backing off.
“This gun is going to shoot down Ix-Gorghal is it?” asked McKinney. He tipped his head back and his eyes followed the twisting metal tubes and criss-crossed beams.
“It’s the only chance we’ve got,” said Blake.
“I know about the Obsidiar bomb, sir.”
“That isn’t a chance, Lieutenant, it’s an admission that we failed.” He joined McKinney in staring upwards. “The Shield Breaker doesn’t look like much until you get amongst it. Now I can see it from close up, I’m…” He paused. “Hopeful isn’t the word. Maybe I can see a pinpoint of light through the keyhole.”
“It’s something to aim for.”
The gun towered above them and it was tilted at a thirty-degree angle. It was fitted to a movable plate, allowing it to rotate in a limited arc. The loading end joined with an enormous square housing in which the Obsidiar slugs were fed into the barrel. Wherever the original designs had sprung from, this gun had clearly been heavily-modified to get it onto a spaceship.
The central maintenance shaft was directly below the barrel, and it operated in the same way as the maintenance shafts on the Ulterior-2. Blake held his breath when he entered his access codes. To his profound relief, the Earth’s Fury security system accepted the codes.
“I’m still part of the Space Corps on New Earth,” he said under his breath.
The lift came and McKinney got onboard, along with a dozen others from his squad.
“You’re coming on the third trip, sir?” he asked.
Blake confirmed what they’d previously agreed. “Yes, Lieutenant. The crew comes after the next group. Don’t get yourself killed.”
“That’ll only happen if Webb here gets trigger happy and fires a plasma rocket at our feet.”
Webb wasn’t at all bothered by the suggestion. “I resent that accusation, sir,” he said mildly.
The lift descended with an exasperating lack of speed. The troops left on top were arrayed in whatever positions of cover they could find and most of them glanced regularly towards the shaft to see what was going on. For many, this was their first potential engagement with a real enemy and their nervousness was plain to see.
“The lift is coming back up,” said Sergeant Demarco. “Get ready.”
The second group sank slowly into the shaft. Blake leaned over and watched their gradual progress towards the exit tunnel at the bottom. The lift stopped and the squad vanished from sight.
“We’re next,” said Blake.
The lift arrived and the crew jumped onto it, along with a few of the soldiers who could fit. Blake poked the destination button with one finger and tried to remain calm while the lift finished its journey. After what seemed like hours staring at the grey walls of the maintenance shaft and the top of Lieutenant Hawkins’ head, Blake was relieved when the lift stopped.
“Let’s go.”
Blake stepped off the lift platform and into the maintenance tunnel. The passage was wide enough for two to pass but the ceiling was low, forcing him to keep his knees bent. He listened for the sounds of combat as he walked and heard nothing except the crew and soldiers following him. It was too early to take it as a good sign – the walls of a spaceship were thick and unreflective. The metal did funny things with sound; there could be a full-scale war just ahead and he might not know about it.
A side passage led off at a right-angle and a soldier waited patiently at the junction. The man raised an arm and pointed in the direction the others had taken.
“That way.”
“Any resistance?”
“No.”
There was something in the soldier’s eyes which suggested there was more to it than he was letting on. Blake didn’t stop to question him and pressed on along the original corridor. There was another soldier in the distance - perhaps a group of them - and Blake hurried towards them.
He reached the end of the passage, where it entered the main area of Earth’s Fury. There were, in fact, three soldiers here and they waved him out. It was immediately apparent what had disturbed the man in the maintenance tunnel. Blake gagged at the smell and swore quietly.
This was one of the two main corridors which ran from front
to back in the Earth’s Fury. It was meant to be kept clear at all times, though at this moment it was anything but clear. Dead Vraxar were piled in both directions as far as the eye could see. Their huge, torn bodies covered the floor and in places there were so many dead, they came close to the ceiling. Blake stared numbly in the direction of the bridge and could see no end to the butchery. The greasy fluids which ran through the Vraxar’s veins were splashed liberally over the floor, the walls and the bodies of the dead, making the floor treacherous.
“Best watch your footing, sir,” said one of the soldiers. “It’s slippery.”
“The visor blocks out the smell,” added another.
“What…?” asked Lieutenant Pointer, emerging from the maintenance tunnel.
A gentle whirring sound made Blake look up and he found himself looking into the slowly-spinning barrels of a ceiling minigun.
“That single gun did this?” asked Quinn. He put a hand to his throat and retched violently.
“Earth’s Fury is filled with them, Lieutenant. In the walls and the ceiling.” Blake swallowed. “I didn’t expect them be quite so effective.”
“This is awful,” said Hawkins. “It’s like the Vraxar thought they could get through if they only ran hard enough.”
Blake’s eyes were drawn to the face of the closest Vraxar. It had once been Estral, as had all of the bodies he could see. The alien’s skin was smooth and unlined, pristine and untouched by the minigun slugs. The Estral’s eyes were closed and the closest word Blake could find to describe its expression was peaceful.
“Tassin-Dak on Ix-Gorghal told us the Estral meant little to him,” said Blake in disgust. “Here’s the result. The Vraxar have their slaves and their masters. Look at this and remember.”
A soldier approached along the corridor, doing his best to pick through the pieces. “Clear to the bridge,” he called.
“Let’s get away from this,” said Blake. “I’ve seen enough.”
It was a grim journey to the bridge and one or two of the squad vomited. Blake felt his gorge rising more than once and it was an effort to keep it down. They passed beneath several more miniguns, a couple of them still warm, and each one tracked the group passing below. It made the soldiers even more jumpy and they muttered amongst themselves.
Earth's Fury (Obsidiar Fleet Book 4) Page 23
