“Fire Dove, apologizes to you and your Strikers,” I said as rocket pod lids lifted and compressed air drifted out like smoke against the skin of the Escort.
I held the shuttle in place. There was nothing to do and I was mesmerized by watching the rocket pods open. Then as if in slow motion, four rockets raced from the Escort ship.
Four? The gun commander was a slacker. Why use four when three would obliterate the shuttle? The long rockets fully emerged and I inhaled what I figured was my last breath.
***
Four streaks arched from overhead, dipped past the nose of my shuttle, and impacted the Constabulary rockets. All the rockets disintegrated in a spectacular display of expanding gasses and tiny pieces of alloy.
“Navy Shuttle. This is BattlePlatform One-Niner-One. May I inquire as to your purpose,” a voice asked. “To be clear, why are you out here alone next to a Constabulary warship?”
“One-Niner-One, I’m J-Pop. We are a Striker shuttle and we are assaulting the Escort ship,” I reported.
“If that’s what you want to call it,” she replied. “I’d suggest you move off until we sort this out.”
“Where is the rest of your flight?” I asked when I realized no other Bricks were attacking the enemy warship.
Even as I said it, I flew in a half circle and powered away from the Escort ship. You never argued with a BattlePlatform pilot. They were short tempered by nature, uncomfortably strapped in place, and they controlled enough munitions to ruin your day.
“We’ll have flights of Fighters and Bricks in route,” she replied. “ETA, twelve hours or so. They have to disengage from the units mixing it up with the Carrier.”
“Then what are you doing out here?” I challenged, not being in a very gracious mood. “To be clear, why are you out here alone next to a Constabulary warship?”
“Well J-Pop, besides saving your ungrateful backside,” the pilot stated. “I’m searching for Jumbo Three. And, I believe I’ve located the ship.”
“So where does that leave the Strikers and me?” I asked. Then I lied as there were no orders, “Our mission is to get on board that warship and stop her. In twelve hours, she’ll make another two passes on planet Uno.”
“That does present an issue, J-Pop” she admitted. “By the way, how did you plan to board him? There are no intake tubes as far as I can see.”
“I was working on that when you arrived,” I fibbed for the second time. “What’s your call sign?”
“Call sign, Klinge,” she said.
“Kay-Linge?” I asked.
“No J-Pop. Klinge. It’s German for blade,” she corrected me. “Now, how bad do you want to get on the Constabulary ship?”
“Klinge. In the worst possible way,” I replied. “It’s critical.”
A BattlePlatform was the only vessel in the Navy with the ability to go to external drive and back to internal in a short distance. It was the reason the pilots were clamped in place and the main reason for their temperament. It was uncomfortable.
“J-Pop. Confirm in the worst possible way,” she stated.
“Klinge. Confirmed,” I replied having no idea why she checked.
The BattlePlatform pulled far ahead of the shuttle before flipping over.
“J-Pop. Turn about,” Klinge directed.
I half looped the shuttle. With her in the lead we headed back towards the Constabulary ship.
“J-Pop. Stay tight,” Klinge ordered.
The BattlePlatform was the fastest close combat vessel in the Navy. Klinge must have only feathered her power because the shuttle kept pace but, it required almost full power. As I chased her, I tried to figure out what we were doing.
The Escort noticed the two Realm ships closing with him and he fired a volley of rockets. Klinge went to external drive just as the rockets reached her. All of the Constabulary rockets exploded harmlessly against the Brick’s ion armor.
Then, Klinge evolved to internal drive and launched rockets. The side of the Escort filled my view screen making the Brick appear tiny. When Klinge veered away, I had a clear view of eight rockets racing away and vectoring towards a narrow area. They impacted with the exterior of the Constabulary warship.
Plating peeled back from the explosions and a dark spot appeared. The dark was the inside of the Escort vessel and the rough-edged hole provided access.
“J-Pop. You said you wanted on the ship in the worst possible way,” the Brick pilot offered. “Good luck with that.”
“Klinge, it will do,” I replied as I corrected and aimed the shuttle at the jagged hole.
Chapter 18
“Brace, brace,” I said over the intercom. “Brace for…”
The shuttle’s exterior screamed as the edges of the Escort’s plating ripped and gouged out long streaks in her sides. I shook from side to side reacting to the vessel twisting as it attempted to fly through the grip of sharp points. An interior bulkhead filled my view screen. It rushed at me and I figured, even if I don’t survive the landing, most of the strikers would.
When half its length was shredded by the claws of the hole, the shuttle jerked to a halt. While the exterior skin parted like paper under a knife’s blade, the ion wall presented a solid object and a hard stop point.
“Collect the wounded and move to a forward hatch,” I urged as I switched on power to the port and starboard hatches.
The ion wall was completely offline. Hopefully, the battery’s connections were intact. I was pleased to see green lights as both hatches slide open.
“What did I tell you?” Fire Dove bellowed. “Alloy bending mayhem. J-Pop never fails to deliver. All Strikers are fit, Lieutenant.”
The Strike-Kill Team filed forward and dropped out the hatch.
“Find us a route to an interior corridor,” I instructed as I punched the release for my harness.
“But Lieutenant, you landed in an interior hallway,” the big Striker called Rhubarb-Pie pronounced.
“Rhubarb, I mean a corridor that goes somewhere,” I replied.
“I’ve got breaching cord. Once Fire Dove finds a wall, I’ll make a hole,” he advised me as I stepped out of the cockpit. “Shouldn’t you armor up, Sir?”
“J-Pop is a Striker pilot,” Fire Dove said as appeared on the twisted deck outside the shuttle. “He’s a hard man and doesn’t require armor for a little job like this. Get out here and make us an exit, Pie.”
“I’m on it, Sergeant,” the big Striker acknowledged as he jumped lightly to the uneven deck.
***
I followed Fire Dove and Rhubarb as they squeezed around the nose of the shuttle. The rest of the Strikers waited in a segment of a collapsed compartment. While Rhubarb secured a line of burn cord to a section of wall, Fire Dove spoke to the Strikers.
“Team One secure the engine room,” he instructed. “Try not to damage the ion wall. It’ll be nice to drive this ship back as a capture. Agreed Lieutenant?”
“We’ve tangled with Constabulary Troops before,” I added. “Don’t risk your life to spare the hardware. Troops go down hard. Overkill is the name of survival with these creatures.”
“Wise words, Lieutenant. Team Two will go after the armory,” Fire Dove continued. “They use a conveyor system to feed their weapon stations. We stop the flow and their gun batteries will run dry.”
He was right except the bunkers for the rockets, missiles, and guns would all be full. Even with no more arriving, the Constabulary had plenty of munitions to throw at the Navy. I decided to help with that aspect of the operation and told Fire Dove of my plan. Before he could reply, we were interrupted.
“Avert your eyes! Burn in three, two, one, burn,” announced Rhubarb.
A blinding light filled the compartment as the burn cord cut a hole in the alloy of the ship. Before the light from the burn cord completely faded, Fire Dove lined up two Strikers at the hole.
“Left,” he said slapping one on the chest before slamming his fist into the other’s armor. “Right. Stay low and recon by fire. This isn�
��t a sneak and peak mission.”
They would be the first two through the hole and the teams’ eyes in the first three seconds of the attack.
“Rhubarb-Pie, kick it and move,” ordered Fire Dove.
The big Striker lifted an enormous foot and rammed it into the cut piece. I expected a delay or some resistance from the metal. Neither happened, the cut was good and a section of the wall simply fell away. Rhubarb pivoted on one foot and rotated his body off to the side.
I caught a glimpse of a sterile white corridor then the hole was filled with the two advance Strikers. Before another Striker could move, the over and under forty-five rifles sounded from beyond the hole.
Fire Dove stopped the next two in line.
“Go left, sonic grenade as you emerge,” he instructed before stepping to the next. “Go right, sonic grenade as you emerge. Go! Go!”
The first Striker aimed to his left as he entered the corridor. I saw his rifle jerk before he moved out of sight. The second did the same.
“Form up your teams and clear that passageway,” Fire Dove ordered as he took a place in the line. “Go!”
As if they were one being, the last six Strikers filed out of the compartment. I stood alone next to the wrecked shuttle and waited for them to move away.
The sounds of kinetic rounds pinging and sonic grenades exploding faded as the teams cleared opposite ends of the corridor. Once sure there was no stray rounds to dodge, I reached into the muffler and pulled out my Knight Protector of the Clan gear. In seconds, I was dressed in the black doublet and trousers. With the hood up, I followed the Strikers through the cut.
***
White and as clean as a medical center, the passageway shined from the deck to the pipes overhead. I still couldn’t understand the Constabulary’s obsession with cleanliness. Shoving the thought aside, I jogged to the first stairway and headed up.
Although I had limited knowledge of the Escort ship, I knew where one line of rocket and gun bunkers was located. I’d watched those rocket pod lids open from out in space. At the next landing, I searched for and found a passageway heading towards the exterior of the warship.
I dropped the bulky helmet and pulled down my hood. My camouflage activated. Unseen, I marched down the corridor. Because it connected the midship with the outer passageways, the corridor was narrow and, for the Troops, low. For me it was just right and I followed it to an airlock door. Beyond the door, the corridor ran a few more meters before ending at a bulkhead. Warning signs pasted to the wall, Do Not Drill and Do Not Cut, let me know I’d reached the interior limit of the Escort.
On my right was another air-lock door. I spun the locking mechanism and pulled the door open. I glanced in and smiled. I’d found the rocket and gun positions for this level.
***
A bare ceiling hung low above a steel-grate walkway. The usual array of pipes was missing. This close to any action, the builders eliminated utilities that could rupture in the event of a direct hit. Nor did they waste space on comforts for the gun and rocket crews. From just inside the air-lock, I counted six bays off one side of the narrow walkway. Three were rocket control stations and three were guns batteries.
The guns were easily distinguishable from the rocket stations. Quad barrels extended through concave plates allowing the guns to rotate while firing on enemy warships. A platform mounted on the barrels had a seat facing in the same direction as the quads. In front of the seat, a screen acted as a window displaying the space outside the ship’s hull. As if looking out a window, the gunner could see and engage attacking warships. On the walkway behind each quad, a hatch gave access to the loading system below.
When an access hatch was open, it blocked the walkway. As I said, the space behind the weapon bays was narrow. The only station on the other side of the deck was a cutout section with a platform just below the level of the walkway. A Constabulary officer squatted on the platform peering under the grating. He watched a Troop work to unjam a magazine from a gun’s loading mechanisms.
I walked to the access hatch and jumped down to the loader’s level.
***
The Constabulary officer had a hand on the grate for stability as he leaned forward under the walkway. His eyes were on the loader’s back. The rest of the Troop was lodged between the magazine and the feeder housing. My hand grasped the officer’s collar. With a twist of my hips for torque, I yanked him off the platform and propelled his face into the steel gun mount.
As the officer collapsed on the lower deck, I kicked the lever to engage the feeder. A fresh magazine was ejected from the housing and powered towards the quads distribution gears. Except the Constabulary Troop’s head was in the way. He barely made a sound as the heavy magazine rolled forward and crushed his head against the teeth of the gears. I stomped the officer’s bloody face to be sure he was permanently out of the fight before moving to the next weapon station.
***
The loader space under the targeting controls stepped down into a pit. This allowed the loader to watch as rockets dropped from a bunker onto a cradle. Once on the cradle, the rocket moved forward and was pushed into the firing pod. During the push air was trapped. Before launching, the trapped air escaped as the pod’s exterior lid lifted. Dispersing air resembled smoke, if you were unlucky enough to be down range and close enough to see it.
The Constabulary loader was sleeping with his head tilted back and his mouth open. One of my Knight fighting sticks extended and I jumped on the massive Troop. Before he could figure who was kneeling on his chest, I drove the stick into his throat and out the back of his neck. He bucked but I held him down until he settled and died.
The cradle was on a pivoting arm. The articulating arm had four joints and four retaining pins. I pulled all four. With the next drop, the joints would separate, the arms would fail, and down would come the rocket, cradle and all.
I climbed out the opposite side of the rocket pit and moved to the next gun battery. So far, my work and I had gone unnoticed.
***
My luck ran out when the gunner on the first gun station called out an alarm. Whether they considered it an attack or an industrial accident wouldn’t matter once they found the Troop under the rocket station. I froze in place and waited to see the crews’ reaction. The loader on the quad in front of me raised the hatch and climbed onto the walkway. As he ran to answer the call for help, I craned my neck around and followed him. Through the steel mesh, I noticed the rocket controller remained on his seat. As a matter of fact, his legs were extended and he seemed relaxed. Spinning back to the front, I saw the rocket loader at his station beyond the quad reclining and not responding either.
The loader at the last quad pushed up the hatch, climbed to the walkway before running to the aid of the downed loader and the officer. His gunner had already left his station to help. But none of the rocket teams had moved or even shown concern for the quad team’s cry for help.
It was the worst case of team rivalry I’d ever witnessed. Whenever you pitted teams in the same division against one another, the competition got fierce. This far exceeded anything I’d experienced. Taking advantage of the abandoned quad, I edged forward.
No retaining pins this time. The quads used gears to lift and position the magazines. I worked four rounds free from a staged mag and laid each on the backside of a gear. They wouldn’t explode unless, one twisted around and, a gear tooth hit the primer. Even without an explosion, the crushed rounds would foul the gears. It would require an hour or more of work before fresh magazines could be lifted to replace the expended ones.
With the quad crews gone to help their fellow gun teammates, there was a lot of empty space between the last two rocket stations. I moved down the lower level to the next rocket pit.
Something was nagging at the back of my mind. Just before I reached the rocket loader, it hit me. The interior drive of the Escort ship hadn’t changed pitch. It was as steady as when the Strikers and I boarded. By now the warship was around the
apogee and on the orbital leg back to planet Uno. If the Strikers had taken the engine room, they should have slowed the Escort or even shutdown the drive. If the Strikers failed in securing the engine room, it meant another bombardment of the planet. I shook off the negative thoughts and slinked forward.
***
The Troop was laying on the rocket cradle. Although the space was tight, it looked ridiculous seeing the big body sprawled on the curved support. His position gave me an advantage as his head was near the end. I slipped into the pit and around the sleeping form. Then, I snapped open a Knight’s stick and placed it across his throat. I slammed the stick down hard and pulled on his neck. He reflectively scooted back which helped me. I pressed down as the back of his head came off the cradle. In an unnatural bend, it rotated back exposing his throat. I dropped an elbow on his Adam’s apple crushing the thyroid cartilage of his larynx. While he fought for air, I rolled him off the cradle and quickly extracted the retaining pins.
A shout went up from back along the walkway. The alarm roused the rocket crews and the hatch at the end of the walkway slammed open. Seconds later, the loader’s feet pounded on the grating as he ran directly over my head. He was joined by the two rocket controllers. Suddenly, I had the last three positions all to myself for a brief period. At least until they discovered the other two dead Troops.
I paused at the quad just long enough to free up four rounds and place them out of sight on the gears. Then, I rushed to the last rocket station and happily pulled retaining pins.
A feeling of accomplishment washed over me. Of the six weapons on this deck, five were out of commission. That should give the Navy a chance when warships from the fleet arrived. I climbed out of the rocket pit and up onto the walkway.
Because I had no idea of where the Escort ship was located in relationship to planet Uno, I stepped onto the rocket controller’s stand. Figuring to steal a quick glance at the rocket station’s screen, I leaned around the seat.
***
A few Fighters, Gunships and Patrol Boats were formed up along the Escort’s path. Probably Navy ships from the Transfer station and the Naval Command station. Certainly not enough fire power to damage or stop the Constabulary warship. I studied the screen, translated the symbols and swiped on a tab marked Missile Targeting. Adrenaline flooded my veins. There was only one target on the screen.
On Point (Galactic Council Realm Book 4) Page 21
