Now they were isolated from their Air Group and trapped in a shrinking space where Teth’s smaller, more maneuverable destroyer had the advantage. Even as Husher studied the tactical display in bewilderment, he saw eight Gok ships emerge from the asteroid field and head toward his stranded Air Group. Five more followed.
We need to get out of here, immediately. “Nav, set a course to pursue the destroyer that takes us through the missile barrage.”
Kaboh looked at him. “I cannot have heard that correctly.”
“You heard me. Lock it in and send it over to Helm, now. Tremaine, I want four more Hydras loaded into forward tubes as well as twelve Banshees, all programmed to target down missiles. Spray kinetic impactors into the approaching missile cloud, as well—hopefully we can take down a few more that way.”
“Yes, sir. This will reduce our remaining Hydras to the eight we’ve loaded into the port and starboard tubes for broadsides.”
“I’m aware of that. I’m also aware that this will guarantee we’ll take at least some of those robots on the hull. Damage Control will have their work cut out for them, and so will Chief Gamble’s marines, but better this than letting Teth fire that particle beam up our ass.” Husher turned to Kaboh. “How’s that course coming?”
“I just sent it to the Helm,” the Kaithian said, his voice strained.
“Good. I have another task for you. Assume the enemy destroyer’s acceleration tops ours by thirty percent and come up with an estimate for when we’ll be on the exact opposite side of the moon from it—that’s when I want the Vesta brought fully around, followed by bringing our engines up to one hundred percent. Collaborate with Tactical to figure out the moment Teth’s nose will appear around the moon’s horizon. Tactical, I want you to fill the space we expect the destroyer to occupy with kinetic impactors, as well as four Banshees for good measure.”
As both officers hunched over their consoles, Husher turned to his sensor operator. “Winterton, take a good look at that forcefield, or whatever the hell it is. I want you to figure out exactly what it centers on—is it the moon’s core, or is it a spot nearer its surface? My guess is the latter.”
“Yes, sir.”
A series of slight tremors ran through the deck and up Husher’s seat—that would be the robots they were taking on their hull. It killed him to picture the metal killers tearing through his ship, but it was what had to happen.
At last, they were through the cloud of robots, after only seventeen of them made it into the Vesta’s hull. Not the worst outcome, but certainly not good.
“Bringing her around,” Vy said, and Husher watched on the display as the remaining forward visual sensors showed a view of the dusty, barren moon, and then of the horizon they expected the enemy ship to appear over. “Engaging engines at full.”
“I’ve located the forcefield’s center, Captain,” Winterton said. “You were right. The forcefield centers on a point near the surface of the moon, on the side opposite us.”
“Then that’ll be the site of whatever’s powering it. I doubt Teth would be able to carry a generator big enough to power that thing aboard his ship, so the positioning makes sense.” Husher opened up a two-way channel with his marine commander. “Major Gamble, are you there?”
“I read you, Captain. My marines are in the process of mopping up our latest visitors.”
“Glad to hear it, but I’ll need you to take your best soldiers off that task. I’m assigning you with a mission that will probably decide whether we live or die today.”
“No pressure, then.”
“Nothing you can’t handle.” I hope. “Get two squads comprised of your best marines to Flight Deck Delta as quick as you can. Suit up before you go—combat pressure suits. Take some heavy artillery with you. Your job is to find and destroy whatever’s generating the forcefield currently pinning the Vesta against this big rock.”
“You can count on me, Captain.”
“Good man. Husher out.”
As he terminated the transmission, Tremaine spoke. “Firing kinetic impactors and four Banshees at the coordinates where we expect the destroyer to appear.”
Several long seconds later, Winterton said, “No sign of her, sir. We—oh. There she is—she’s cresting the horizon underneath us!”
Husher gritted his teeth as he processed the fact that Teth had played him again. “Helm, engage attitude thrusters to lower our port side twenty degrees.”
“Aye, sir,” Vy said.
Husher tried not to dwell on the ordnance he’d sent tearing through empty space instead of the enemy destroyer’s hull. “Tactical, be ready to fire our port-side Hydra broadside the moment the targeting becomes viable.”
“Yes, sir.”
Next, Winterton spoke the words Husher had been dreading: “Superheating along our port side, sir.”
“Helm, standby to accelerate away the moment those Hydras have left the launch tubes.”
An explosion rocked the ship. “That was two rows of point defense turrets exploding, as well as a secondary capacitor bank,” Winterton said. Another explosion. “Several laser projectors in the area were just obliterated,” the sensor operator added.
“Tremaine?” Husher said.
“Firing Hydras now, sir.”
“Full power to engines, Helm,” Husher barked. “Squeeze every drop of acceleration they’ll give us.”
His eyes riveted to a splitscreen showing a tactical overview alongside sensor readouts, Husher watched as the destroyer continued her circuit around the moon, methodically neutralizing the thirty-two missiles screaming her way, one by one.
The missiles’ targeting systems were sophisticated, and they’d track Teth until he managed to deal with them all. Hopefully, the volley would buy Gamble and his marines the space they needed to get down to the moon, but Husher didn’t think for a second that the Ixan was finished.
The smaller, faster ship had the clear advantage in the ever-shrinking space between the forcefield and the moon. If this fight dragged on much longer, Husher knew they were all doomed.
Chapter 56
Major Peter Gamble
Gamble expected no trouble getting his best marines to Flight Deck Delta on time, but getting the shuttle and pilot he wanted there was another story.
As he sprinted through the corridors toward where he needed to be, assault rifle at the ready in case any robots decided to come through the bulkhead at him, he made a snap decision.
“Chief Haynes,” he said over a two-way channel, “I want you to leave Flight Deck Alpha and fly around the Vesta to Flight Deck Delta and pick us up. Think you can do that? I need you there in seven minutes, max.”
“Not what I’d call the safest maneuver, in the middle of an engagement,” Haynes said.
“Oh, is that why your callsign is Psycho?” Gamble said as he ran. “Is it because you like to sit around in the comfort of your home and sip tea? Is that why you signed up to fly a combat shuttle?”
A brief pause, and Haynes said, “How did you know my callsign? They gave me that in flight school. I haven’t told anyone here.”
“I know a lot of things, Chief Haynes, including that I’ll kick your ass if you’re not on Flight Deck Delta with the Vesta’s best combat shuttle by the time I arrive there.”
“Yes, sir,” Haynes said quickly. “On my way. Haynes out.”
Probably the pilot knew Gamble was joking, but there was still a note of uncertainty in his voice. Gamble liked it that way. He didn’t enjoy making threats, but he also didn’t enjoy lacking what he wanted when he needed it most. In that sense, a climate of healthy fear of what Gamble might do wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
As his last couple marines were running across the flight deck, the inner hatch opened on one of the airlocks, and the combat shuttle Gamble had wanted descended from it, landing neatly a few meters away from his people.
It hadn’t just been the shuttle itself he’d wanted, even though he expected it to play a significant role
in the coming mission—it was a craft with lots of artillery, designed for direct actions against targets where heavy resistance was anticipated. But besides the shuttle, Gamble had also wanted Haynes himself flying it. The man had demonstrated some serious ability during their escape from Tyros; flying that had probably saved the captain’s life, as well as Gamble’s. That’s who I want taking us down there.
“Johansen,” Gamble said, pointing at one of the marines. “Did you bring what I need?”
“You got it, Major,” the marine said, slapping a lidded trolley next to him.
“You’re a good man, Johansen.”
As he’d left Cybele, Gamble’s com had shown Johansen as the closest to Flight Deck Delta—as well as the closest to the nearby armory. He’d quickly instructed the man to get the necessary artillery, including the charges they’d use to blow that generator to pieces.
“You’ve all been chosen for the weapon you rate highest on,” Gamble told the assembled marines. “I put together this direct action on the fly, as I was jogging here. If I can do that, y’all can handle any confusion that arises with minimal fuss. Grab your weapon, sort yourselves out, and get on the shuttle. You have thirty seconds, marines.”
Johansen flicked the lid of the trolley onto the deck, and Gamble’s marines clustered around the guns, digging through them until they found the one they were strongest on. That done, they sprinted toward the shuttle’s open airlock. The last marine piled in twenty-nine seconds after Gamble had given them their time limit. Not bad.
“No need to wait for us to get all comfy-cozy, Psycho,” Gamble told Haynes over a wide channel. “Let’s go now, while the shuttle airlock is still pressurizing.”
“Going.”
Gamble felt the shuttle leave the flight deck and thrust toward the airlock on its way out of the Vesta.
Captain Husher’s voice came over a two-way channel. “Major, we’re approaching the location we believe the forcefield generator to be. Our plan is to decelerate and remain in the vicinity for as long as we can, in case you need some air support.”
“I appreciate it, sir,” Gamble said. He would have told the captain not to endanger the ship needlessly, but he knew he didn’t need to.
“You’re ready to deploy?”
“We’re heading for the airlock now.”
“Good luck and God speed, Major.”
“Thank you, sir. Same to you.”
Seconds later, the exterior airlock door opened, and they were rocketing out into the void. None of the marines had taken their helmets off—Gamble was glad he didn’t have to tell them that. This flight wouldn’t be long enough to justify it, and besides, in the middle of a battle, the chance of losing interior pressure was high.
“Remember, everyone, we’re going to be much lighter on our feet down on the moon,” Gamble said over a wide channel. “The good news is, so will any Ixa we encounter. That means their fancy new genetic enhancements will count for less when it comes to running us down like they did on Tyros. The bad news is, we can probably expect to encounter some heavy firepower as a result. Stay frosty, everyone.”
“Oorah,” the marines answered as one.
The staccato of one of the shuttle’s turrets sounded overhead, followed by something landing on the hull.
Within two seconds, Gamble had unclasped his restraints and was running for the airlock. He slapped the panel to let himself in, entered, and pressed an inner panel to close the hatch behind him.
Through the narrowing gap, he glimpsed several marines who were clawing at their restraints, as well as Tort, who’d simply ripped his off and was halfway to the airlock.
Too late, Gamble thought as the hatch slid closed. “Psycho, I need an airlock override, and I need it by the time this chamber finishes depressurizing. I know what that sound was, and I know there’s nothing you can do about it now that it’s made its way past your turrets.”
“You sure about this, Major?” Haynes said. “This isn’t—”
“What you’d call the safest maneuver? Son, I’m gonna show you what psycho really means.”
The outer airlock hatch opened, and Gamble gripped an overhead handle with one hand to swing himself onto the shuttle’s roof while keeping a firm grip on his R-57 with the other.
Twisting around, he activated the magnets in his combat boots to secure himself to the hull, and then he tensed his leg muscles to straighten himself.
Just in time—he came face to face with a robot that was turning toward him and brandishing its razor-edged limbs.
One metal arm came at Gamble. He fired, his bullets propelling the limb away. The second arm swung toward him, and he shot that away, too.
Before the robot could make another move, Gamble deactivated the magnets in his left boot long enough to deliver a swift kick to the thing’s midsection, quickly retracting his leg before it was sawed off.
The robot staggered backward, and Gamble fired a round into it, sending it clattering across the hull.
The shuttle was approaching the moon, now, and Gamble’s legs were aching with the strain of staying upright and balanced.
Gunfire flashed from the moon’s surface, and Gamble dropped to the shuttle’s hull. The robot scrabbled soundlessly across the metal toward him—he could feel the vibrations.
Flipping onto his back and slapping another clip into the gun, he emptied it into the thing’s face, point blank. That did the trick: the robot lost its motor power, floating off the shuttle, which proceeded to land roughly on the moon’s surface seconds later.
The flashes of at least a dozen muzzles all across the moon’s surface told him they were already getting shot at by a lot of hostiles. Gamble hauled himself over to a squat barrier on the shuttle’s roof, intended for exactly the purpose he planned to put it to.
“Get those turrets into play, Chief Haynes,” he said over a wide channel. “Marines, deploy around the shuttle and use it as cover. We’re already in the shit, here.”
Chapter 57
Seems Irrational
“The destroyer is coming back around the moon, sir,” Winterton said. “It’s headed straight for us.”
“Acknowledged,” Husher said tersely as he studied sensor data from the moon’s surface, which showed hundreds of Gok and mutated Ixa moving on Major Gamble’s position. With only the two squads Husher had told the marine commander to take, he looked certain to be overrun.
“The forcefield is closing in rapidly, sir,” Winterton said. “It’s now half the size it was. We’ll soon have barely any room to maneuver at all, and the Gok attack force will reach our Air Group within fifteen minutes.”
“Acknowledged, Ensign,” Husher ground out, barely containing his frustration. “Helm,” he said, twisting around in the command seat to look at the Winger.
“Captain?”
“Spin this ship around and point our starboard side at that destroyer. Without delay. It’s time to use our last Hydras.”
“Yes, sir,” Vy said, punching a few commands into her console. With that, the Vesta began to rotate on the tactical display.
“Tremaine, fire on my mark. In the meantime, I need you to direct kinetic impactors toward the surface of the moon, using our underside point defense turrets. If we leave Gamble and his marines to deal with all those attackers, they’ll be overrun within minutes.”
“We’ll be offering ourselves to Teth by remaining here,” Kaboh said. “He’ll use his particle beam to finish us.”
“That’s what the Hydras are for,” Husher said.
“What about when they’re depleted?”
“I’ll deal with that situation once I’m in it,” Husher growled. “One thing at a time. Tremaine, make sure to fire well away from our combat shuttle.”
By willing his Oculenses to show him a magnified visual of the moon’s surface, he was able to see that Gamble had set up two heavy machine guns in the shuttle’s shadow. At the moment Husher zoomed in, a rocket streamed out from near the shuttle’s hull, and then
another, from the opposite side. In the meantime, the shuttle’s four turrets were firing full bore, and doing considerable damage. That was impressive, considering it was only Haynes operating them, though he was likely using AI for assistance.
The marines were mounting an admirable defense, but it couldn’t last—not on its own. The Ixa and Gok had them surrounded, meaning the shuttle offered little cover, other than the airlock and fold-out barriers that were now standard issue for combat shuttles. Already, Husher could spot four marines down of the twenty who’d gone to the moon’s surface.
Then, Tremaine brought the Vesta’s underside point defense turrets to bear, operating them manually. It was an unusual, perhaps unprecedented way to use them, but it had an immediate and devastating effect.
Clouds of regolith dust plumed up from the moon’s surface as impactors sheared pressure suits in two, throwing the Ixan and Gok ranks into utter chaos.
“Sir…” Winterton said.
Husher glanced at the tactical display, specifically at the destroyer’s proximity. “Hold, Tremaine,” he said.
“Yes, sir…” the Tactical officer said, though he sounded as anxious as Winterton.
“Superheating along the starboard side, Captain,” the sensor operator said. “One of our flight decks is threatened. I strongly recommend—”
“I said wait for it!”
Long seconds passed as the Vesta’s hull sloughed off, the effect creeping closer and closer to Flight Deck Omicron.
“Fire Hydras!” Husher said.
Tremaine did, and the superheating persisted two seconds more before Husher was rewarded for his steady hand. The destroyer veered to starboard in what was clearly a desperate maneuver. Such a sudden course change would be hard on any ship’s engines, and what was more, it wouldn’t grant the warship the velocity it needed to outstrip the missiles.
Ixan Legacy Box Set Page 23
