“For the Empire!” shouted enemy battlesuits, raising their arms and charging into the company.
“Devastators to the front!” yelled Darius, extending his combat blades as blaster and plasma fire shot back and forth and rushing forward as fast as his suit would allow.
“Resistance is futile. Surrender and live—fight and die!” roared an enemy officer in an oversized enemy suit at least a good foot taller than those of his surrounding Jacks.
“For the Hold!” shouted Darius, taking in the enemy’s seamless merging of neck and shoulders that didn’t allow for an easy decapitation strike and the crystal boarding axes they brandished.
“The Hold!” screamed his fellow Tracto-ans as they surged forward.
“And the MSP!” roared a former Caprian within the ranks.
In response, the enemy leader extended his force blades and his force of a dozen men advanced like pinballs, bouncing off walls to throw off the Lancer’s aim in an intricate dance that made hits with long-range weapons harder—although not impossible—to make.
But even when they were hit, the ranged weapons appeared to do very little damage.
“Swords!” roared Darius as the enemy leader bounded into the front rank squad, knocking two of his Lancers over and taking a head with the first swing of his mono-locsium boarding axe.
Then he was there, and blades crossed in front of his mighty breastplate. Darius blocked an axe and the sheer momentum of his chest-charge sent the enemy leader slamming into the wall.
“Messene!” he screamed, leveling his ion cannon at the leader and cutting loose while the other man was temporarily off-balance.
Behind him, his men screamed as they went hand to hand with the toughest enemy they’d met to date. These were soldiers who had the best, most advanced training and been a part of the most brutal battles in known space and lived to tell the tale and fight another day.
These were Imperial Marine Jacks—and Darius had long-awaited this day.
Darius knew that, formidable thought they might be, these Imperials had never gone hand to hand with fully trained Tracto-an warriors. He blocked a boarding axe with one hand and stomped a fallen Jack with his foot. The last time Marine Jacks had gone toe to toe with his people, they’d been defeated and surrendered. As far as he was concerned, their reputation was nothing but an unverified boast until after they’d faced his test.
It was a test he didn’t plan for them to survive.
Chapter Eighty: Desperate Times on the Hull
A pair of fighters came swooping around, the heavy blaster cannons under their wings going to rapid fire as they strafed the hull.
Oleander waited until they had shot past before popping up, setting his adhesive boots to three fourths stick, and charging toward the next protrusion on the hull. Ducking back around behind it, he set his boots back to maximum and carefully fell onto his back to maximize his cover.
Bringing his weapon up to chest level, he scanned the black sky over his position and saw far too many enemy fighters for his comfort. Lining up a bead on an approaching enemy fighter, he held his fire not wanting to give away his hiding place—at least, he held fire until another man in a Caprian skin suit performed a flying leap that ended right outside the protrusion he was using for cover. Predictably, the fighter which had been ignoring his area until now opened fire.
“We’ve got to get out of here, Bush!” shouted the endlessly irritating Chief Petty Officer that had roped him into the job of shuttle pilot as a series of blaster bolts landed all around them. Miraculously, the storm of fire missed the old Caprian entirely.
“It’s ‘Shrub,’ you moron,” Oleander grumbled under his breath, wondering how in the world he’d ended up with hoary old royalist determined to dog his trail while spouting anti-electoral rhetoric. The gods really did seem to hate him right now.
“Don’t give me any of that ‘I didn’t volunteer for this’ nonsense, Bush!” shouted the CPO, grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him out from his cover like a clam out of its shell.
“You’re going to get us both killed!” swore Oleander, taken by surprise at the move. Instinctively, he brought his blaster around but the CPO knocked it away.
“I’m almost out of adhesive; these boots were meant for fine work over short distances or metal hulls—we’ve got to find a boarding tube and get inside!” shouted the Petty Officer, giving a jerk that broke the Parliamentary agent’s own adhesive boots free from the crystalline hull.
“Let go,” Oleander tugged on his blaster, but was unable to get control now that he was essentially floating free from the hull and had no point of leverage. “The nearest hatch is the other way!”
“The Lancers say they found a downed shuttle over here,” chortled the CPO, crouching down and then giving a giant leap that took them flying perilously close to directly over a still-active laser mount. “They think they can get the boarding tube activated before another fighter comes by and takes it out the rest of the way.”
“You’re going to get us killed,” shouted Oleander as the laser fired beneath them and they started to get further and further from the hull.
“I haven’t lost a pilot yet,” said the CPO, activating a handheld maneuvering jet and taking them abruptly down toward a small knot of Lancers, “and I don’t aim to start now!”
Oleander’s eyes took in a pair of crew-served blaster cannons being set up around a crumpled-looking shuttle that seemed to have smashed into the hull.
A Lancer in a battlesuit stomped over after they landed on the hull.
“Found my wayward sheep, Lieutenant,” shouted the CPO over the line-of-sight radio channel.
“My boys think they’ve got the boarding tube working, so we should have a hole soon,” reported the Lieutenant with another Caprian-sounding accent, “and the transmission’s down, Chief! I lost half a squad to the last fighter pass alone. We’re getting killed out here—there’s no need to make the enemy’s job any easier than it needs to be!”
The CPO nodded.
Oleander swore silently. Instead of cracking into a perfectly fine hatch, he was instead about to make foolhardy charge into a damaged shuttle and through its hopefully undamaged boarding tube. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was that the more people you had around you in a battle the more likely you were to draw enemy fire.
Chapter Eighty-one: Akantha on close approach
“Yeah!!!” screamed a feminine-sounding voice in her own native tongue as the bam-bam-bam of the lander’s drive and resulting oppressive g-forces threatened to tear joints and crack bones.
“We’re going in hot, my Mistress,” reported the shuttle pilot, also a Tracto-an.
“Just pay attention to your work and make sure the Lady makes it down in one piece,” growled the warrior in the co-pilot’s seat.
“Too many lasers for any promises, War Leader,” shouted back the Pilot, sounding like he was having the time of his life.
“I told you we could get it going faster if we limited the crew to our people, Persus!” exclaimed Akantha.
“We shouldn’t be out here in the first place, my Lady,” retorted the man who’d guarded her safety since she was a girl child.
“Hold on!” said the pilot before a sudden wave of vertigo swept over everyone onboard followed by a series of rapid fire engine thrusts that caused even the hold-mistress to groan. “Enemy fighter on close approach!”
Moments later, the lander shuddered.
“We’re hit! We’re hit!” cried the pilot, “I’ve lost helm control. Quick—deactivate the ballistic jelly. We need to bail out before this lander pancakes on the shields!”
Persus flicked the switch that sent an electrical current throughout the interior of the shuttle, turning incredibly tough and absorbent jelly back into liquid. Another flick opened the lander’s back end hatch, venting the liquid into space.
“Hurry, my Lady,” shouted Persus, grabbing her by the shoulder and hurrying her to the cockpit’s now op
ening access hatch.
“Don’t forget your grav-sled,” Akantha said right before throwing herself out the hatch with a shout. Seeing the enemy ship moving ever closer to her, she quickly locked her arms onto her sled and activated its maneuvering program.
Moments later, a much more unwieldy figure came shooting over beside her. “Let me go in front,” said Persus.
“It’s been too long!” Adonia Akantha Zosime said with an eager expression on her face. In the interest of avoiding conflict and giving her guardian heartburn, she decided to refrain from pointing out that if the Imperials targeted them with lasers then Persus being between her and them wouldn’t make a bit of difference in the ultimate outcome and let him go first.
Telling a man who’d been with her practically all her life—and who’d helped raise her—that at this point that there was nothing he could do and that he was entirely unnecessary until they got inside the ship didn’t seem like a proper reward for years of faithful service.
“Time to ride the lightning!” she shouted as her grav-board turned and started doing its best to bring her down safely. “My Lady!” Persus shouted after her as his board automatically maneuvered clear of her board, separating them.
He still had a lot to learn about how things were done on the River of the Stars!
Chapter Eighty-two: Imperial Irritation
Arnold Janeski glared at the screen as yet another wave of landers and shuttles pushed their way toward his hull. It was a smaller wave than the previous ones, but the fact that any of the enemy’s boarding units had made it inside his ship was a disgrace.
As he watched, several of the enemy shuttles that had been hit opened their hatches and started to release dozens of men in battle armor riding on grav-boards. Instead of one medium-sized target, his gunners now had dozens more smaller targets to deal with.
The Provincials had proven more innovative and determined than he’d given them credit for. Well, no matter; one on one there was nothing in this galaxy that could withstand the full force and fury of the Imperial trained Marine Jack. It took massive numbers to swamp and overcome them. Sadly for the provincials, they simply didn’t have nearly enough men to get the job done.
“Send another squadron of fighters to sweep the hull. I want those ticks dug out before they have time to burrow under our skin and link up with their comrades,” ordered the Supreme Admiral.
“Aye-aye, Sir,” said Fighter Operations.
“What’s the status of the provincial battle armor inside?” the Admiral turned and demanded.
“General McMann reports that mixed in with their obsolete armor are battlesuits like he’s never seen before. However, despite their surprising effectiveness, the enemy incursions have been contained before they could link up, and are even now being forced into smaller and smaller containment areas,” reported the Marine Lieutenant in the room.
Janeski grunted. “Tell him to speed it up—there are more of them on the way.”
“Aye-aye, Admiral.”
“What’s the status on the enemy’s Battleships?” the Supreme Admiral turned and demanded, looking at the screen where all four of the enemy Battleships were still active and engaged with his Command Carrier and her supporting units.
“Toward Wolf-9 two of the enemy Battleships have been knocked out, while the rest are outnumbered and taking heavy damage from our units. Locally the enemy flagship has been severely damaged by counter-fire and over a third of her starboard broadside has been neutralized. Right now she’s using one of her compatriots for cover but our Cruiser force is pressing her port side hard. We may lose some Cruisers but it’s only a matter of time until something critical over there breaks and we’re able to neutralize them,” reported Flag Tactical.
“When it comes to the Governor I don’t want neutral—I want dead,” Janeski said flatly. “Why aren’t more bomber runs being made against that ship?”
“As we’ve known since the last battle, her point defense system—which includes a large number of plasma cannons—is surprisingly effective at short ranges. Especially against fighters,” said Tactical.
Janeski grunted and turned his gaze toward the increasingly sprawling battle taking place between his fighters and the enemy gunboats.
Chapter Eighty-three: General McMann
“What do you mean you can’t drive them out of there?!” snarled the Marine General.
“They’re dug in there tighter than a Draconis Sand Crab, Major General,” the Major on the other end of the line said stoutly, sounding like a man reporting things the way they were even if it wasn’t exactly the way his General wanted to hear it. “We’ve been pushed back three times, but nothing seems to work. I’m afraid this is going to take more time than we’ve been allotted.”
“Are you telling me that a full strength, veteran Marine company—fully trained in using and outfitted with the latest Predator II class battlesuits, the most powerful power armor currently inside this galaxy—can’t defeat a handful of provincial Marines, Major?” demanded the General.
“I’ve got a company and a half over here, and no, Sir. That’s not at all what I’m telling you,” the Major said grimly. “I’m saying that they’re dug in and these oversized suits they’re using are tougher than anything I’ve seen. They take a hit and just keep going. They have ion and blaster cannons against our own built-in plasma tubes, and vibro-blades to match our force blades. When it comes to maneuverability they’re bigger and slower than us; we have no problem getting around them and pushing them back or killing them in the open, but against a fortified position it’s matching their best strength against ours. In that type of match-up we’re—”
“I’ve heard enough,” General McMann said in an iron voice, “prepare to pull your force back and push forward toward the hull. We can’t afford to stall out our advance now.”
“You can’t mean to leave them behind us, General?” the Major asked sounding worried.
The General’s jaw tightened. “No. I’m sending in Nottingham. As soon as her men arrive on the scene, hand over your positions and continue with your advance in compliance with your company’s original orders,” said the General.
“Good thing there’s nothing too critical in that area then, Sir,” said the Major, “if that will be all I need to get my Jack’s ready to pull out and advance.”
“Carry on, Marine,” grunted McMann.
Chapter Eighty-four: The Brunt
“My sensors are picking up movement around us, Captain,” reported Lieutenant Hector.
“By definition, anything the enemy does—other than stabbing themselves in the foot by accident—is no good. I want our warriors on a heightened level of readiness,” instructed Darius. “I don’t want it said the Lyconese were taken by surprise when the Argosians would have been prepared.”
“Captain, I’m receiving a transmission,” reported Darius’s top communications technician, a Promethean man that had been with them for almost a year now.
Darius considered for a moment. “Put it on my long talker,” he instructed he waited until the line was open.
“Who is this?” Darius asked.
“I am Major Nottingham, and this is your first and final warning. Come out with your weapons deactivated and my men will take you into custody and escort you to the brig. Fail to do so within sixty seconds and I will destroy you,” said the woman on the other end of the line.
“I can’t do that,” Darius said evenly.
The line clicked and went dead, and the Lyconese Tracto-an frowned.
“I want scans,” he ordered, turning to his com-tech, “have the scouts push out a sensor and find out what the enemy thinks she’s doing.”
“Sir, their sensor tech is way better than ours. There’s no way a remote scanner is going to be able to—”
“Then tell them I want a quad of scouts sent out!” Darius roared.
The tech looked at him with surprise before nodding and turning back to his job.
“Ar
e you sure you aren’t overreacting because we’re pinned down?” asked Lieutenant Hector.
“They sent a woman—that’s reason enough to raise our guard,” said Captain Darius. “You don’t send in a woman unless it’s someone important—or you intend to get the job done with overwhelming force.”
“They don’t think the same way we do,” pointed out Hector. “Besides, what can they do to us in here?”
“I’ve got a feeling…” said the Captain dourly.
“Then I’ll have my men get ready,” said the Lieutenant.
Chapter Eighty-five: Nottingham’s Plan
“Are the breaching charges ready?” asked the Major.
“Ready and primed, Sir,” reported the Marine Engineering Lieutenant in charge of the special squad.
“Remember: as soon as the spike gets here you are to ready your men. The moment it fires…well, you know what to do,” said Major Nottingham with a bloodthirsty grin.
“Just like back in 27 on that station around Europa Prime,” nodded the Lieutenant.
“Then get them ready,” she barked, slapping him on the ass.
The Lieutenant suppressed a salute and strode back over to his men. Moments later, the corridor rumbled as a team in power armor pulled the spike over and into place.
“How are we doing for power?” Nottingham demanded.
“The line’s good and everything is in place except the footings,” reported the Sergeant in charge of the work party.
“Then bolt her down and tell the rest of the company to get ready. It’s time to show these locals what it means to board an Imperial ship with a full Imperial Marine brigade onboard her,” said Major Nottingham.
Chapter Eighty-six: A Little Elbow Grease
3 weeks earlier
Admiral's War Part Two (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 10) Page 31
