“Affirmative,” the Condor’s lead pilot responded tightly, and as Smythe watched, the Condor’s maser cannons ripped into the nearly-defenseless aircraft, slicing off the tail of one as it tilted toward the sky to lift off. It crashed back to the ground, wobbling a bit as the pilots attempted to regain control. Then both aircraft became flares of light on the display when a pair of missiles from the Condor obliterated them.
“Good shooting,” Smythe said emotionlessly, his attention already elsewhere. Skippy had learned from schematics that tunnels connected the military base to the dome, so if enemy soldiers were pouring out of the ground into the dome, he had no way of knowing at the moment. No matter; they would stick to the plan which had worked well so far. “Execute Break-In,” he used the term for the preferred option for gaining quick access to the interior of the dome. Quick was the key; once his team reached the ground, they had only seven minutes to locate, secure and retrieve their objective before the Condors were scheduled to return to the Flying Dutchman.
“Execute Break-In, roger that,” the pilot acknowledged. A maser cannon under the chin of each Condor fired, not in a searing destructive burst, but in a sustained surgical beam that carved neat holes in the glass of the dome. The material was not actually glass, Smythe knew, and it did not shatter; the edges of the near-circular holes were glowing orange where the maser beam had cut through, and Smythe could see the dome material was thicker than expected. The extra thickness had not been a problem, as the fire control system controlling the maser cannon had simply increased power and duration based on sensor feedback. “We have access,” the pilot stated needlessly, as everyone aboard the Condor was watching the nose camera feed in their helmet visors. “Bringing us in to hover, let’s be quick about it.”
Of the four Wurgalan fighters Lt. Reed had engaged, two fell victim to missiles she ripple-fired in her first volley; one of the missiles that missed its first target had circled around and reengaged another Wurgalan craft, forcing it to desperately maneuver away and taking it out of the immediate fight. The last enemy fighter had been lucky; its defensive maser had clipped one of Sami’s missiles and sent it cartwheeling across the sky to self-destruct uselessly.
After launching her first four missiles, Sami had broken away from a direct course toward the enemy, as her Thuranin air-to-air missiles had not needed any guidance or control from their launching ship. Her greater altitude and airspeed allowed her to dictate the terms of the air battle; she could engage, break away and reengage at will, while the enemy could only react to her moves. For almost a full minute, the two dropships tangled across the sky, their maser cannons spitting beams of microwave energy when their computers thought they had a good firing solution. Both ships were hit without significant effect; the glancing maser bolts being deflected and absorbed by defense shield. Then the Wurgalan ship that was being chased by Sami’s last missile lost its battle as the missile scored a direct hit and turned it into a ball of sooty plasma. Seeing it was now truly alone, the remaining enemy fighter broke away from engagement with Sami, turning to fly at full power toward the two descending Condors.
Sami reacted immediately, toggling off one of her precious twelve missiles at the enemy and hooking her Falcon hard around in a nearly 180 degree turn. The abrupt maneuver bled off airspeed energy and was almost the last thing she was supposed to do in air combat, but it could not be helped. Before the enemy changed course, she had been leading it away from the pair of Condors and now she found herself badly out of position. The Condors were especially vulnerable at the moment, she could see on her display the large Thuranin dropships were popping up as they performed their final approach to the dome. One Falcon was between the Wurgalan fighter and the Condors, but that Falcon had troubles of its own as a pair of enemy aircraft were approaching from the south.
And Sami herself had another problem about to go from imminent to active: three enemy fighters coming straight at her from the airbase. Raptor Lead and his wingman were already fully engaged in a swirling furball with eight Wurgalan so she could not expect help from them.
“Oh, hell,” she said to herself. “Four against one again.”
The large Thuranin dropship called a ‘Condor’ by humans was not designed to insert special operations troops, it was simply a transport that was most often used for cargo. The Merry Band of Pirates had improvised with help from Skippy, and as the Condor slowed to a halt in midair above one of the twenty meter diameter holes in the dome, the back ramp dropped open quickly and Smythe jumped out with his team. No sooner had the last pirate cleared the ramp than the pilot increased power to take the big and vulnerable Condor out of hover, to go streaking away a mere hundred meters off the surface. The second Condor disgorged its troops seconds later, and followed the lead ship away while Smythe’s team was still falling through the thin air.
The air of Barsoom was thin, mostly blown away by the solar wind eons ago. To slow and control the descent of a single armor-suited pirate would have required an enormous parachute or balloon, too large to be deployed with two teams of eight dropping in formation through holes a mere twenty meters across. Instead of parachutes or balloons, each person in a Kristang powered-armor suit was suspended beneath a jet-powered drone. The drones at first descended with their precious cargo, acting only to slow the descent, then each drone increased power to hover as they passed over the hole. With the drone momentarily stationary, the tether holding the trooper stretched to lower the person safely through the hole and to within three meters of the interior floor, at which point the tether released from the trooper’s harness. In the blink of an eye the tether retracted into its drone, and the drone zipped away to be replaced by the next drone in formation. Smythe was the fourth person to drop through the breached dome, and as the tether lowered him quickly, he saw movement on the far side of the dome. Octopussies, two of them.
The Wurgalan were referred to as ‘octopussies’ by humans, just as humans had nicknamed the Ruhar ‘hamsters’ and the Kristang ‘lizards’. The Wurgalan were not octopi any more than the Kristang were lizards, but military tradition demanded enemies to be given a derisive name, so ‘octopussies’ was an obvious and universally accepted choice.
In truth, although the Wurgalan did appear a bit like large land-dwelling octopi, they had only seven legs, not eight, and so one of them might more accurately be called a ‘septapus’. Although, in addition to their seven combination arm-legs, they had a prehensile tentacle on their foreheads, so ‘octopus’ was close enough. Seven legs gave a Wurgalan a lot to keep track of when moving around, and many options for locomotion. Their fastest gait was to use their two front arm-legs together; stretching them out in front and then flinging them under their bodies as they ran. To each side, pairs of arm-legs could be used together, or only one arm-leg on each side if the Wurgalan were carrying something like a weapon. The seventh arm-leg in the back was held out to the back as a sort of tail for balance when moving at high speed.
Smythe considered that information in a flash as he dropped down through the opening in the shattered dome, and saw movement with the corner of his vision. In addition to providing a physical description of the Wurgalan, focusing on relevant characteristics, capabilities and weaknesses, Skippy had given his opinion of Wurgalan culture. “If you think the Kristang and Thuranin are awful MFers, then you will really hate the Wurgalan.” As the Kristang had considered humans to be a disgustingly useless low-tech client species, the Wurgalan had a client species of their own; the Urgar. With Wurgalan technology still measurably behind that of the rival Kristang, one might wonder why the Wurgalan deserved, needed or would bother with a client species of their own. That question was almost moot, as under the not-tender guidance of the Wurgalan, the Urgar had become almost extinct. The last few million Urgar, living out a miserable existence on a harsh colony planet after the Wurgalan had taken their homeworld, would welcome the cruel Kristang as saviors if they had the option.
An option the Urgar were unlike
ly to ever enjoy.
As Smythe completed his split-second recollection of everything relevant he knew about the Wurgalan, he swung his rifle around and fixed the targeting crosshairs in the visor of his Kristang armored suit at the Wurgalan on the right, just as the creature was bringing its own weapon to bear on Smythe. Before Smythe could squeeze the trigger, the Wurgalan and its companion were blown backwards in a hail of explosive-tipped rounds. The pirates who came through the opening in the dome before Smythe saw the threat before he did, and they dealt with the Wurgalan quickly and efficiently. The rounds impacting the octopussies not only exploded, they penetrated the suits before exploding, blowing chunks of alien in all directions.
“Their suits aren’t armored,” Smythe observed over the open channel as he scanned the dome, spinning around 360 on the tether and not seeing any other threats. Operation of the tether was fully automatic unless he took manual control in an emergency. When the tether controller saw, through sensors on the bottom of his boots, that Smythe was less than a meter from the surface, the tether released itself from his harness and he dropped lightly to the hard, smooth surface. Concrete, or something like that, he observed in the back of his mind. Concrete, hard and smooth but not slippery. And he realized it was not entirely smooth, it was spiderwebbed with small cracks and there was a fine layer of pink dust covering everything, including the Elder artifact that dominated the center of the dome. The facility was, as Skippy had assured the pirates, neglected by the Wurgalan. There was a military outpost attached to the dome, but it was generally staffed by only a half dozen octopussies as a sort of honor guard, whose main function was to escort the occasionally important visitor. That explained the lack of armor on the suits of the two now-dead Wurgalan; they had likely donned whatever gear they had available on short notice when the pirate dropships were observed screaming down from orbit directly at the dome.
In his powered suit and the low gravity, Smythe crossed the dome within seconds to stand over the dead octopussies. Thick purple blood was oozing slowly from the bodies, simultaneously freezing and boiling in the cold and low atmospheric pressure now that the dome had been breached. Smythe could see the enemy soldiers had come into the dome from a stairway set into the floor; two other stairways were set at 120 degrees apart. Teams were already poised near all three stairways, and at Smythe's order, a pair of grenades were dropped into each stairway. One grenade of each pair was set for concussion effect, the other for an intense thermal burn. With all the pirates laying flat, the grenades coordinated over the taclink between the suits and exploded in series; concussives first followed by thermal a split second later. The floor of the dome rocked and more cracks appeared in the surface. Near the holes where the dome had been breached, the translucent material cracked and fell in to crash onto the floor, creating wider gaps in the dome. The breaching holes had been cut near the edges of the dome to avoid the masers hitting the Elder artifact in the center; Skippy had assured Smythe that mere grenades would not collapse the main structure of the dome onto the artifact.
The instant the burning gouts of flame from the stairwells had subsided, teams including Smythe were racing toward the artifact. "This is different, Major," Ranger Mychalchyk observed unhappily. In preparing for the mission, the team had studied 3D images provided by Skippy, based on whatever data he had been able to collect from the edge of the star system. Clearly, the images Skippy had access to were incomplete or out of date. Parts of the artifact were missing, and new, unknown parts were attached to it.
"It is," Smythe replied calmly. "The Wurgalan may have removed pieces for study, then reinstalled them. The piece we need is in there," he pointed up and to the center of what looked like a modern art sculpture combined with an oil rig. "Cutters, clear these two pieces away," he forced himself to be calm as the counter in the corner of his visor indicated they were already behind schedule.
Four people equipped with plasma torches lost no time in firing up their cutters at full intensity, flooding the dome with harsh light and causing everyone's visors to automatically darken. Which is why the Wurgalan were able to surprise them.
Wurgalan were not stupid, and although the soldiers assigned to the honor guard at the dome were very much out of practice at combat, they knew to keep away from the three stairwells after the airlock doors there had been shattered and incinerated, along with two unlucky soldiers who had been about to open a door and charge up the stairs. The remaining two Wurgalan, in their lightweight ceremonial armor, knew their duty was to protect the precious Elder artifact from what the surveillance cameras showed was a Kristang raiding party. If the dome had been equipped with maser cannons on the interior, the Wurgalan would have activated them. If the honor guard had been equipped with hunter-killer drones, they would have used those. If their rifles had been supplied with armor-piercing or explosive-tipped rounds, they would have used those. Because Wurgalan leadership was concerned about potential damage to the artifact more than the extremely unlikely possibility of an assault on the dome, all the honor guard had for weapons were rifles with low-velocity rounds. Any attack on the star system would logically begin with strikes on the populated third planet, then with an orbital bombardment and ground assault on the airbase of the fourth planet. Only when Wurgalan forces had been defeated across the star system, the strategic defense plan anticipated, would an enemy turn their attention to the useless curiosity of the Elder artifact under the dome. A raid focused on the artifact had never been considered in the defense plan.
The remaining two Wurgalan emerged into the dome through an access hatch concealed in the floor under part of the original artifact that had long ago been taken away.
Smythe's first indication that anything was amiss occurred when a pirate applying a plasma torch to the artifact had the torch knocked out of his hands to go spinning along the floor. The torch cut out when the trigger was released, which saved the user from having his legs severed by the torch. His armored suit sustained no more than dents under the impact of the low-velocity rounds even though both Wurgalan concentrated their rifles on one pirate.
"Do not hit the artifact!" Smythe shouted as his team turned their attention to the multi-legged adversaries under the Elder device. When Smythe first learned the Wurgalan were structurally similar to an octopus, he had been concerned about an enemy who could stand on two feet and theoretically hold five weapons. Skippy had scoffed at that foolish notion, explaining that was no more likely than a two-armed human simultaneously controlling two rifles. The brain of a Wurgalan could only track one target at a time, and having to control seven limbs plus a prehensile antenna actually was a burden on a Wurgalan brain's processing speed. Attempts over the centuries to genetically enhance their thinking speed had run into the immovable obstacle of their basic brain architecture.
Limitations of Wurgalan physiology mattered, because despite their reaction speed and eye-tentacle accuracy was not hugely better than the elite Merry Band of Pirates. Without Major Smythe having to explain further, four pirates flicked switches on their rifles to deactivate the explosive tips of their rounds, and select a high-impact mode that caused the round to mushroom on contact. While the two octopussies were still firing, they were hit by over three dozen Kristang rounds. The light ceremonial armor surprisingly protected them, but the kinetic energy of the rounds lifted the two aliens and flung them to go skittering across the floor. Across the floor and out from under the protection of the artifact. Again, no orders were needed as the four pirates on cover detail flicked switches again. The rounds that followed the change of mode had their penetration and explosive ability restored. In an instant, the two brave but hapless octopussies were sent to whatever afterlife they believed in.
"Clear!" Captain Chandra shouted calmly. "Sweep the floor for more of these damned concealed hatches."
"Chan," Smythe asked the stricken pirate, who had already gotten back on his feet and retrieved the plasma torch, "are you all right?"
"Yes, Major," Chan re
plied as he handed the torch to another soldier. Chan felt mostly able to return to duty, he also knew that was not the way the Merry Band of Pirates operated. His armored suit may have undiscovered damage that might slow him down, and the raiding party could not afford any delays. So while Mychalchyk took the plasma torch and got to work with it, Chan unslung his rifle and replaced the Ranger on cover duty.
The plasma torches quickly cut through the surrounding structure, exposing the section Skippy wanted the pirates to bring back. As the interfering sections clattered to the floor and pirates leaped out of the way, Smythe hopped up onto the dais to examine the conduit or whatever it was. "Skippy didn't tell us to expect all this extra equipment attached to it," he stated flatly with concern. The actual conduit was slightly over two meters long, and easily carried by one person in a powered suit and low gravity. With all the potentially important equipment attached, it was large and bulky enough to require two people to transport it. "Cut it away at the base here," Smythe made a snap decision. "Sappers, blow the dome wall, we're going out that way." He eye-clicked through a menu inside his visor, blinking to select secure communications mode and sent a message to the waiting Condors that his team would require a ground extraction, without the tethers of the original plan.
The team worked quickly and efficiently; two soldiers carried the conduit out a hole blasted in the dome's side wall, covered by the others. As Smythe stepped out of the dome onto the dusty surface of Barsoom, a glance at the clock in the corner of his visor almost drew a smile. Two minutes, thirty four seconds remaining. They were actually ahead of schedule. Part of the extra time would be eaten up by the Condors landing and loading the bulky Elder conduit aboard, but that possibility had been baked into the schedule.
Now all Smythe needed were the Condors. Where the hell were they?
Zero Hour (Expeditionary Force Book 5) Page 7
