“Seventy minutes, mark,” she replied. “Got it.”
The two of them stepped back to the corner, taking deep, steady breaths to calm themselves, to prepare for the shot, and quietly walked into line of sight, pistols raised. The two guards saw them an instant too late, and a pair of cracks echoed from the walls as bullets slammed into them, catching them both in the side of the neck, sending the dying men dropping to the floor. One of them died instantly, the other lasted long enough to jam his finger on a communicator at his belt, sending a klaxon wailing through the air.
“Good,” Clarke said. “That'll help.” He raced to the door, kneeling down to snatch a key-card from the belt of one of the dead guards, and ran it down the lock on the side of the control panel. “Get going, Ronnie. On the double. I'll see you back at the barn.”
“Watch yourself,” she replied, turning away. “And try not to get lost.”
“You too.”
He stepped through the door, into a room filled with heavily-laden racks, rifles and ammunition scattered almost haphazardly around. With a quick glance at the rear, he started to rummage through the equipment, sweeping a pile of body armor to the floor with his arm as he desperately scrambled through the shelves. Jimmy had described the charges he was looking for, a pair of suitcase bombs, foot-long cylinders marked with the traditional nuclear symbol, the mushroom-cloud-and-skull.
Just as he was despairing, concluding that perhaps Mortimer had been right, that they had been disposed of elsewhere, that his mission was doomed to failure, he looked underneath the rack, and saw the two devices he was looking for, both of them propping one side of the storage unit. Shaking his head at the stupidity of the quartermaster, he reached for the rack, sending it toppling from the wall, the contents scattering across the floor. Reaching down, he snatched at the bombs, grimacing at the weight, and holstered his pistol as he lurched into the corridor.
Mortimer was well on her way back to the train by now, and he could hear footsteps up ahead that suggested that she'd succeeded in her bid to draw off the bulk of the reinforcements. Hefting the heavy bombs, trying to ignore the fact that he was carrying fifty kilotons of death in each hand, he lumbered towards the nearest hatch. Both of the bombs were rugged enough to survive a fall, and he wanted to place them at the base of the complex, where they would do the most good. Total destruction was the goal, the necessity. If any of the savages survived, then all of this would be for nothing.
He knelt at the shaft and looked at the controls, oddly familiar in design, the ancestor of the charges used by asteroid miners back home. Quickly setting the timer, he pushed to confirm the detonation, and tipped it down the shaft, hearing it settle with a crash at the bottom a few moments later. Peering down, he spotted the cylinder nestled in a pile of debris, and nodded in satisfaction. Half way home, but he still had to set the second, and place it somewhere where it was unlikely to be found. It had been easy to activate them, but it would be just as easy to deactivate them again, later on, if one of the guards stumbled across it.
Turning back to the corridor, he saw a figure walking towards him, his arm swinging in a sling, and he drew his pistol, stepping forward, the weight of the bomb slowing his progress as he looked at the man as he approached.
“Clarke?” Jimmy said. “I take it you've planted the first one.”
“In a shaft fifty meters away,” he replied.
“Good. That's not far from where we were going to set them. Where's Mortimer?”
“Drawing the reinforcements away. You take point. I want to get a bit of distance.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “We've got sixty-four minutes before this place ceases to exist.”
With a curt nod, Jimmy turned, walking away down the corridor, setting a rapid pace that left Clarke struggling to keep up. More footsteps echoed in the distance, and at first, Clarke thought there were more guards heading their way, until another howl caused him to freeze him his tracks. He looked at Jimmy, and the expression on his face confirmed his worst fears.
“The savages,” Jimmy said. “The savages are loose. Probably the batch in the testing lab. Dozens of them.” He looked at his pistol, shook his head, then said, “We're out of time. Set the bomb right now.”
“But...”
“Trust me,” he said, “if those monsters are running around down here, then nobody's going to be checking for stolen bombs.” Gesturing to an alcove in the corridor, he said, “In there. I'll cover you. Make it quick.”
Nodding, Clarke lowered the charge into position, working over the controls as he began to set the timer, trying to make sure that it was in sync with the second explosion. He struggled to remember his demolitions training, a brief course that was being forced to take him to places his instructor had never dreamed of, and remembered a radiation monitor, designed to trigger the charge instantly upon registering the explosion of another. If it was as sensitive as the systems used back home, the detonations would be less than a microsecond apart. At worst, one bomb would have to suffice to destroy the base.
“Hey, what are you doing?” an unfamiliar voice said, before a single crack of a bullet send the intruder stumbling back to the ground, clutching at the gaping wound in his chest. Clarke looked up at Jimmy, the man's face cold, hard, his eyes frozen. This was a different man than the one he had met in the desert. A warrior, a ruthless killer.
“You ready?”
“One more connection,” Clarke said, and he tapped a control, yielding an array of red lights on the bomb. After a second, they all winked out, and he added, “I killed the display. If anyone sees it, they should think that it's inert unless they really stop to look.”
“Good,” Jimmy said. “Now, let's get the hell out of here. While we can.”
Chapter 24
Salazar looked up as the cell door rattled open, and Mendez walked in, Baldwin standing behind him, rifle in hand, glancing from left to right. In the distance, he could hear sirens blaring, resounding through the corridors, and a faint tang of smoke seemed to be in the air. Rising to his feet, he look Mendez square in the eyes.
“Firing squad or freedom?”
“There are conditions,” Baldwin said. “We're not going to die here, and you aren't going to turn us over to the Hegemony. We want safe passage back to your Base Camp. Is that understood?”
“I don't have much choice, do I?” Salazar replied. “Give me that rifle.”
“Hey...”
“You know who's in charge of the lifeboat? The man with the gun. And right now, that's me, and you don't have any more choice about it than I have. I'm assuming that my people have launched an attack on the facility, and that you've decided that you're going to take the better part of valor and give up now. How am I doing?”
Nodding, Mendez replied, “Not bad. Though you've missed out one detail.” He glanced at Baldwin, and said, “Robertson's going to release the savages. Captain, we've still got people out in the corridor. She's holed herself in Operations with her hand-picked buddies to wait it out. Seems that the rest of us are expendable.”
Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “Predictable. How can we stop her?”
“We've got to take Operations. Right now. Three levels up, protected by troops loyal to her,” Baldwin said. “Any of my people we run into will join us, but I don't have any means of contacting them.” He glanced at his watch, and said, “We've got less than seven minutes, Captain.”
“Lead the way.”
Baldwin turned to the corridor, quickly moving to a jog as he sprinted to the junction at the end of the passage, a ladder illuminated by a spotlight. An explosion echoed from the walls, a firefight taking place somewhere in the lower levels, and Mendez looked ruefully at Salazar, panting for breath as he struggled to keep up.
“Can you call off your men, Captain?” he gasped.
“Not without a communicator,” he replied. “And I wouldn't anyway. Understand this. R
ight now, our interests coincide. That isn't a state of affairs I expect to last long. Don't worry, I'll keep my word and give you safe passage out of here, but we're not on the same side. My experience has been that the enemy of my enemy is usually still my enemy.”
“Up the ladder,” Baldwin said, keeping an embarrassingly easy pace. “If it helps, Captain, your people swept through my outer perimeter as though it wasn't even there, and from what I can tell, they aren't even using their full strength yet.” He grimaced, and said, “Robertson's still giving them orders. I can't countermand them. My people are dying to defend her.”
Salazar stepped onto the ladder, swinging the rifle's strap over his shoulder as he began to climb, the weapon slamming into his back with every step. He glanced up, the shaft seemingly endless as he ascended into the darkness about, the crack of gunfire all around him, the scream of a dying man chilling him to the bone. He looked down at Baldwin, grim determination on his face. Mendez he couldn't read, but the guard commander was an open book. He was telling the truth. Sweat pooled on his forehead, and he swept it clear with his hand as he swung out into the corridor, immediately running into a trio of men armed with rifles, all of them leveled at his chest. Baldwin stepped past him, anger raging on his face, while Mendez hung back, waiting in the shaft, unwilling to face the guards up ahead.
“Damn it, Chet, let us though,” Baldwin barked.
“I can't do that, sir,” the guard replied. “Orders from Doctor Robertson.” He glowered at Salazar, and said, “She's warned us that you've changed sides, and are to be stopped at all costs. I should have shot you when I first saw you, but if you leave now...”
“We can't leave now,” Baldwin said. “She's going to open the gates. You know what that means? Ten thousand screamers running through the corridors, tearing everyone in their path limb from limb. Including you, Chet. You really think that she gives a damn about you? Don't be naive.”
“Soldier,” Salazar said, “I've offered Captain Baldwin and Doctor Mendez safe passage out of the base. I'll extend the same offer to you and your men, and I don't even require that you come with us. Just head down to the vacuum train station and defend it against any attacks. That will be enough. We'll meet you there when we've completed our mission.” He paused, stepped forward, and added, “Failing that, I guess you're just going to have to shoot me, soldier, because that's the only way you're going to stop us getting to Operations.”
The guard glanced at his comrades, took an involuntary step back, and said, “I can't. My duty is clear. She said you'd lie, say anything to get through. We've spent years working on this project, and we've got...”
“You've got about ten minutes left to live unless you change your mind, Chet,” Baldwin said. “He's making you a better offer than I would, and I strongly suggest that you take it.”
“I can't!” the guard insisted. “Stay still!”
A loud click sounded from behind him, and Fox stepped out of the shadows, rifle in hand, leveled at the guards. “If he won't, I will.”
“Sergeant,” Salazar said, a relieved smile on his face. “Disarm them. Then send them on their way.” Looking at the terrified trio, he continued, “Offer still stands. Get down to the vacuum train and wait. I'd like to keep the death toll down today if I can. Though somehow I don't think Robertson is going to cooperate.” Turning to Fox, he said, “Sit-rep, Sergeant.”
“Lieutenant Lombardo is holding position down at the far end of the corridor, sir.” She gestured at the plasma rifle on her back, and said, “We've got three shots left each with these babies. Lieutenant Harper is down at the station as rear guard, and Sub-Lieutenants Clarke and Mortimer are…,” she paused, then looked at Baldwin, and added, “Running interference down in the lower levels. Distraction play.”
She locked eyes with Salazar for a moment, and he knew that Clarke was engaged in something more important than a decoy run, something that she didn't dare report while anyone else was present. Somehow, he got the idea that she was the decoy, not Clarke, but for the moment, that didn't matter.
“Get Lombardo up here on the double. We've got to take Operations before they can release the savages.” Turning to the guards, now disarmed, standing against the wall, he said, “Get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”
Baldwin looked admiringly at the plasma rifle, and said, “Got a spare one of those?”
“Not for you,” she replied with a sneer.
Lombardo ran down the corridor towards them, sharing a quick nod with Salazar, then reporting, “Company on the way, sir. Multiple contacts, heading right for us. More than I can hold without plasma, and I'm a little worried about the integrity of the ceiling. Last thing we need is to bring the roof down on top of us.”
“No argument here,” Salazar replied. “Which way, Baldwin?”
“Right down the corridor, then turn right. You can't miss it.”
Nodding, Salazar raced along the passage, leaving the startled guards in his wake, Baldwin and Fox sprinting to keep pace. All around him, the sounds of raging battles sounded, and he turned to Lombardo, struggling at the rear.
“What's Clarke doing down there?”
“No idea, sir,” he replied. “Though it must be something pretty special by the sound of it. It's just him and Mortimer, as far as I know.”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “That's it? Just the four of you?”
“Didn't have a chance to bring anyone else with us.”
Baldwin laughed, and said, “My defenses were broken by four damned people?”
“Gets better,” Fox replied. “I'm the only Espatier here. Guess you need to train your people a bit better, Baldy.” Swinging her plasma rifle into position, she added, “Don't like this, sir. No defensive perimeter. Smells like a trap.”
“If it is, I'm in it with you,” Baldwin said. He glanced behind him, and frowned, “Looks like Mendez went with the guards. Just great.” A howl echoed down the corridor, and Baldwin skidded to a stop, saying, “I know that sound.”
“Could they have released them already?”
“No, not yet,” Baldwin said. “There's a time delay. A safety measure.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “We should have four minutes.” He cursed, then said, “The testing chambers. The lab. They've always got some in there, a couple of dozen. It's one level down, but they could herd them our way with the bulkheads.”
“Fox, you and Lombardo hold them as long as you can,” Salazar said. “Art, give me that plasma rifle. I might have a use for it.”
“Sure, skipper,” he said, tossing the heavy weapon to him. “Good luck.”
“You too. Fall back here, and we'll head down to the vacuum train together. I hope.” Turning to Baldwin, he said, “This is your party. Lead on.”
“Right.”
The pair turned a corner, and a moment later, came face to face with a cold metal door, sealed in place, clamps locked down. With a muttered curse, Baldwin moved to the control panel, entering an override sequence once, then twice, finally slamming his fist against the wall in frustration. Tugging the panel down, he ripped at the wires inside, trying and failing to short the connection, before finally turning back to Salazar.
“No good. They've changed my access code, locked it down. It'll take hours to open.”
“Get back to the junction,” Salazar said, swinging the plasma rifle around.
“I thought your man said that it might bring the roof down.”
“It might. In which case all of this will soon be someone else's problem, won't it. Now get back to the junction and take cover. Be ready to advance if necessary.” He paused, then said, “What's on the other side of that?”
“Short corridor, then Operations.”
“Another blast door?”
“No, just normal.”
“Right.” He altered the power settings, then knelt on the ground, ai
ming the rifle at the heart of the door in exactly the manner mandated by the manual. He looked up at the ceiling, noting for the first time the long cracks running through it, and shrugged. If he didn't break through the door, it wouldn't matter anyway. With one last, minute adjustment, he squeezed the trigger.
A bolt of flaming green fire burst from the barrel of the gun, slamming into the door and reducing in to molten ruin, slag metal running across the ground, the after-blast shattering the simple metal door beyond. Dust and debris dropped from the ceiling, a combination of that and the smoke from within sending Salazar into a brief paroxysm of coughing as he struggled to his feet, taking a step forward and peering into the gloom.
“You've got some nice toys, Captain,” Baldwin said.
“Damn right,” he replied, racing forward, taking the molten remnants of the door with a single, cautious leap, before bursting into the Operations room beyond. It was just as he had pictured it, a dozen technicians sitting at their stations, stacks of emergency rations filling one wall, and Robertson herself, poised over a control panel, her finger hovering over a button.
“Freeze,” Salazar said. “Don't move.”
Raising an eyebrow, she replied, “Pull that trigger, and this time you will bring the roof down.”
“On both of us,” he said. “I won't be going to Hell alone.”
“Maybe not, but is that any reason not to postpone the trip? My offer still stands. I can call off the savages I've already released, or I can let the rest go. Don't you want to go home? The secrets you were looking for are here, in this database.”
“Not at this price,” he said. “Give it up, Doctor! You've lost.”
“Not yet,” she replied. “You're bluffing. You wouldn't take the risk, and we both know it.” She reached across to a control, and said, “I can connect you to the entire base from here. Order a ceasefire. I'll do the same. Then maybe we can settle this in a more civilized manner, rather than at the barrel of a gun. What do you say?”
Shaking his head, he said, “What I said before. I want your unconditional surrender, and in exchange, I'll guarantee your safety once this complex has been destroyed. That's the best offer you're going to get.” He took a step forward, and said, “Your call, Doctor. I suggest you make it. Quickly.”
Secrets of the Sphere (Battlecruiser Alamo Book 27) Page 18
