by Paul Barrett
“Ashron, where the hell are you?” Laura demanded. She had taken out six snipers before anyone realized they had an unfriendly on the roof. She dispatched two more in the confusion that followed as they stopped shooting at Hawk and attempted to locate the source of enemy fire. Some of the flechettes from Gerard’s porcupine had aimed for the snipers, but had fallen short and rained onto the parapet with their tiny engines expended.
“Thirty seconds out,” Ashron said as the floodlight to Laura’s left exploded. She returned fire, sending another man down with a hole burned into his chest.
She looked around. In the muddle of combat, she had lost track of people. She had no idea of Wolf’s whereabouts. Ten more men suddenly appeared on the ground level. They opened fire in her direction, their aim beneath her, revealing Wolf’s position.
“HUD,” she said. As she surmised, Wolf’s dot put him underneath her. “I’m right over you, Wolf,”
She popped up and shot one of the men. The rest dove for the safety of the doorway as the familiar staccato rhythm of Wolf’s MGoA echoed through the courtyard. Two fell to Wolf’s fire. Six made it to the door; only two stopped behind the door to return fire. Laura set her crosshairs on one of the men. Before she could shoot, the scene in front of her exploded into a mass of cement chunks, wood, dust, and flesh as Wolf’s heavy machine gun chewed up the door and the men behind it.
“Go for the alcove,” Laura said. “I’ll cover you.”
Wolf lumbered across the blood-soaked, body-strewn quad. Three more men stepped out to fire. The one that lived through Laura’s return fire dashed back through the doorway. There were no other attacks.
As soon as Wolf reached the alcove, Laura dropped behind the parapet to rethink her position.
Resting on her haunches, she scanned the immediate area. The surviving snipers had disappeared, most likely converging on her position. Rather than wait, she decided to take the fight to them.
“I think they’re going to try a Scarplin net attack,” Ship told Gerard as he slid into the weapons control seat.
“Really? That’s odd. Unless they want us alive,” Gerard said. He saw the ships move into position, lines of energy crossing from vessel to vessel, quickly forming a force net. “Launch a salvo of static missiles and slide under the net.”
“Aye, aye.”
The missiles left their launchers with a soft thud.
A flash of light burst against the energy net. It began to dissolve as the missiles’ static charge disrupted the frigates’ energy systems.
Ship increased engine power, heading for the widening gap. Gerard saw the Corsair coming in behind them and launching a salvo of missiles.
“Incoming,” Gerard said, even though Ship already knew it.
“Countermeasures launched,” Ship told him. “E.C.M. on.”
He watched the screen as the missiles fanned out. The metal fragments scattered by Ship threw flashes of light as they spun and distracted the guidance systems on the rapidly closing missiles. Two of the eight projectiles made it through the cluster of metallic shards and struck Ship’s shields; the thunder of their explosion echoed through the vessel. The vibrations rattled Gerard’s teeth.
“Shields at seventy percent,” Ship said. “We’re through the net.”
“Plasma cannon on that Corsair.”
“Aye, aye.”
Ship’s turreted plasma cannon blazed away, arcing yellowish-green spheres of superheated gas toward the Corsair. The two Frigates, recovering from the static missiles, began to reform their net.
“What are they doing?” Gerard asked no one in particular.
“Herding us toward the freighter,” Ship told him. The screen showed Gerard that the freighter had maneuvered to a position in front of them, its cargo doors open like the maw of a predator.
Gerard tapped his cybernetic hand against his pale chin. “I’d say things were starting to get interesting.”
Hawk, his back to the courtyard and head bowed to minimize target area, heard Wolf before he saw the shadow against the back wall. He turned to find Wolf’s massive form above him, gun held at the ready, bright blue eyes studying the slaughter of their friends. The smell of cordite almost poured from the large Uraxian.
“Glad you could make it,” Hawk said.
Wolf nodded.
Hawk stood up. Wolf’s usually stoic expression changed to one of startled amazement. “They’re not dead?”
Hawk shook his head. “They will be if we don’t get them out of here soon.” He glanced at the disfigured, bullet-pocked bodies of Yonath and Dona. “Cut them down. I’m not going to leave them here.”
Hawk took up position against the wall opposite Thomas, facing the courtyard with his pistol ready. Despite the protection of the alcove and the devastation wrought by the porcupine, plenty of firepower had gotten through. His whole body ached from the pounding the energy blasts and kinetic slugs had delivered. His shield was useless, its energy depleted, and his armor penetrated. Blood trickled from his side. He couldn’t pass out yet, much as his body told him he wanted to. The assault had stopped, but Hawk didn’t know if that was because everyone was dead or just regrouping. “Laura, sitrep.”
He heard two sharp clicks. She couldn’t talk but was still okay. They still had active enemies.
Hawk looked at Thomas. A dim blue glow crackled around his body; his shield was almost gone too. Other than the shallow gash on his neck, he appeared unharmed. “You okay?”
Thomas gave him a tight smile.
Wolf finished cutting down the bodies as the sound of gunfire returned to the courtyard, followed by the metallic whir of a moving combat robot.
“This just keeps getting better,” Hawk muttered
Laura slipped behind a large solar panel and watched as four soldiers stumbled their way from a rooftop doorway toward her previous position, their ad-hoc leader occasionally admonishing them with a whispered, “Shh.”
Motion in the sky. She saw the Little Star closing in on her position. Good, she thought, this is getting bothersome.
“Shuttle at twelve high,” one of the guards said.
“Open fire.”
Flash and thunder lit the night air as the men shot at the shuttle.
“That’s pretty damn rude,” Ashron said.
Setting down the rifle and pulling out her pistol, Laura stepped from behind the solar panel and fired.
Four shots with heat-seeking slugs, four dead bodies. They never even had time to be surprised.
“Thanks, Laura,” Ashron said. He swooped down and flew low enough that she could see him smiling as he skimmed over the wall and into the courtyard.
And a missile flew by from below, barely missing the shuttle.
“They’ve engaged their tractor beam,” Ship told Gerard. “About one minute before we’re inside the freighter.”
Gerard swore. Whoever planned this attack knew their tactics. After a brief exchange with Ship that left both crafts with their shields exhausted and little else, the Corsair had disengaged. However, it accomplished its mission, keeping Ship occupied while the two Frigates rebuilt their energy net. They encircled Ship, trapping her in a shimmering force web. A web which had slowly moved Ship toward the open freighter until it could capture them in its tractor beam.
As they rapidly approached the freighter entrance, Gerard tried to formulate a way to escape. Hoping against hope, he asked, “Ship, can we fire through the freighter once we’re in?”
“Negative. They’ve got a static field generator inside. Once we’re in, I’m out.”
“Glanus mukai!” Gerard swore in his native tongue. The static field rendered their energy weapons useless. Beams would scatter, and plasma would dissipate as soon as it stuck. He glanced over at Trey, who sat with his hands clenched and face brimming with fear. Gerard couldn’t blame him. Turning back to the freighter on display, he considered a weakness he would have protected that perhaps their enemy hadn’t. “Ship, what is the thickness and composition
of the freighter’s front bulkhead?”
“Ten meters duraluminum steel.”
“And is there any shielding or deflection material on it?”
“Negative.”
Gerard smiled. “Okay, Ship, here’s what we’re going to do.”
“Son of a bitch!” Ashron yelled as the mini-missile flew by the Little Star, close enough he could have read the projectile’s model number. He banked away as the Star’s warning light blared the approach of another missile.
“Now you tell me,” the Lorothian growled at the console. The missile passed him and continued into the sky.
He spotted the attacker, a ten-foot-tall combat robot standing in the center of the courtyard. It had determined the shuttle as the most significant threat and launched its missiles. Ashron said a prayer of thanks to Ssarra that the robot was equipped with dumb missiles and not seekers.
“I got this,” he said, knowing only Wolf had the firepower to even hurt the armored robot. But the MGoA could be better used elsewhere. Ashron has his own toys. “Drones launch.”
Three circular shaped discs detached from the Star’s underside and warbled in the air.
The robot was bringing chain guns to bear, apparently having calculated the inefficiency of its missiles against the nimble shuttle. The large caliber weapons would bifurcate the craft in seconds if it locked on. Ashron wouldn’t let that happen. “Take out the big bad guy.”
The drones formed into a triangle, repulsors glowing blue. They fired IR blasts at the robot, blinding it, and followed up with high-powered lasers on its fuel cell. Five seconds later, the robot exploded in a gout of orange flame. The shockwave reverberated across the courtyard. Debris flew. A shard of metal slammed into one of the drones, and it plummeted to the ground. Force rocked against the Star. The engines whined as Ashron brought the shuddering craft back under control. “Superior technology for the win,” he said. “Someone’s going to buy me a replacement for Sylvia.”
He swung back around, eased the forward throttle, and kicked in the landing jets. Slug holes and blast burns cratered the walls. Bodies lay sprawled everywhere, many pierced by slender metal spikes. Ashron spotted Hawk, Wolf, and Thomas, and guided the shuttle to land near the alcove, noting with horror the Maratais’ bodies lying on the ground. He tried to see if any of them were breathing when the backwash from the jets obscured his vision. A few seconds later the craft touched ground with a gentle thump.
“Touchdown. Let’s go.” Ashron unstrapped his belt and started to stand. Star-shaped cracks spread across the windshield as kinetic slugs struck. Wondering what was shattering their supposedly bullet and laser-proof glass, Ashron threw himself to the deck. As he pulled his Sub-Lazgun from the holster on his side, the windshield blew inward. Glass showered across the shuttle’s floor. Shots smashed into the cabin, sending out muted thuds and electrical sputters as they struck chairs and panels.
Wolf’s MGoA filled the air, drowning out all other noise. Ashron smiled as he cautiously reached up and keyed the door open. “Still on the roof, Laura?”
“Yes,” Laura answered over the noise of her weapon. “More unfriendlies just arrived.”
“Must be the second shift.” Ashron started out the door and almost ran headlong into Wolf, who stood outside, a body slung over his shoulder. Hawk stood behind him with another small body.
“Take him,” Wolf said, handing over Yoseph. “I’ll get the Maratais,”
Ashron took a reflexive step back as he saw the child’s raw torso. He recovered and took the boy from Wolf’s arm. He gently laid Yoseph in one of the chairs, yanked off his shirt, and laid it over the child’s wounded chest.
Hawk placed the girl in another chair. Cold fury welled up inside Ashron at the site of the unconscious children. He narrowed his eyes and turned to Hawk.
“No time,” Hawk said in answer to Ashron’s implied question. “Cover Wolf and Thomas. When they get in, dust us off. Leave the drones to do covering fire, but get us out of here.” He put a hand to his bleeding side. “I need to sit down.” He collapsed onto one of the shuttle’s benches.
Happy as it would make Ashron to level this place, he understood Hawk’s request. They needed to leave before reinforcements arrived, and the children had to get help in Ship’s med bay to have any chance of surviving.
Ashron slipped out of the shuttle and tried to keep eyes everywhere, his Sub LazGun in hand. Wolf had Yonath and Dona in his arms. Ashron did not look at them. He had seen enough as he landed the craft. He noticed Wolf, his shield a distant memory, had no less than twelve wounds. The Uraxian’s skin, thick and tough as any combat armor, had kept the damage to a minimum.
Ashron spotted Thomas near a wall. The rookie seemed to be holding his own. “Come on, Thomas.”
Thomas disengaged from the wall and ran. As he drew close, he glanced to his right. “Look out!” he shouted. He slammed into Ashron, knocking the Lorothian against the shuttle.
Gunfire erupted. A laser scored the side of the craft.
Thomas, a gun in both hands, returned fire.
“Get in,” Ashron shouted as he shot toward the alcove where the men hid.
Thomas scuttled sideways, firing. One of the men went down as Thomas’s blast eradicated his face.
A laser drained the last of the rookie’s shield. A second beam burned into his abdomen, another struck his pelvis, and a slug slammed into his chest. He dropped with a scream. The holes in his stomach and leg smoked, leaving an acrid stench.
“Bastards,” Ashron shouted. He held up his Sub-LazGun and sprayed energy in the general direction of the assailants. One of them dropped to the ground, his knee burned. Another fell backward, blood and guts spilling from his ruined abdomen. The others retreated.
“Cover me,” he shouted to Wolf. The large Uraxian took up a stance in the shuttle, MGoA aimed out the window. Ashron picked up Thomas, not wanting to leave his body behind. The Lorothian almost dropped him when his breath hitched.
“You’re alive?” Ashron asked as he walked to the shuttle. “You idiot. I taught you about cover and concealment, and you weren’t using either.” He laid the wounded man next to the children. “Thank you for saving me.”
Thomas gasped and went still. Ashron put his head on the man’s chest. A heartbeat. Thin, faint, barely perceptible. “Don’t you die on me. I don’t want all that time I spent training you to go to waste.”
“Get us out of here,” Hawk told him.
“With pleasure.” Ashron slid into the pilot chair and fired the jets. The shuttle jumped into the air. Five men ran from their hiding spot and fired at the ascending craft.
Ashron’s nostrils flared as his eyes narrowed. “It’s a shame they don’t realize how dead they are.”
He brought up the HUD and spotted Laura, outlined in green, and five other targets, giving off heat signatures, twenty meters east. Orange blossomed from weapons as they kept her pinned down. “Laura, heading your way. When I say duck, duck.”
“Standing by to duck.”
Ashron touched the HUD, highlighting the enemy targets. “Francine, you’ve been a great drone, but it’s time to give your all.”
Two beeps in Ashron’s ear, and the drone broke from over the courtyard and glided toward the painted targets. A countdown ticked toward the moment of impact. At three seconds, Ashron said, “Laura, duck.”
Laura ducked behind a metal conduit that ran across the roof and closed her light-intensified eyes. With a tremendous thunderclap, the drone detonated. Metallic thuds echoed through the conduit as shards of bone struck it, followed by the smack of flesh. A wave of heated, chemical-scented air washed over Laura, and several drops of warm blood struck her clothes.
After a few seconds, she stood and surveyed the damage. Three of the bodies were reduced to bits and chunks. Two had not been as severely mutilated, but were still unmistakably dead. One had been thrown into the pentice doorway, leaving a bloody, body-shaped imprint. His face was smashed inward, and his arms lay at o
dd angles. The other had been tossed roughly seven meters and somehow managed to become impaled upon a machine gun, the barrel protruding from his back.
“Cable coming down,” Ashron said. Laura turned her head to the raft above her. A door in the hull slid open, and a metal cable played out. When it reached Laura, she clipped the carabineer to the duraluminum catch on her belt.
“Attached.”
The cable hoisted her toward the shuttle like a fish reeled in toward a boat.
Shots rang out from the roof as a man ran from a doorway.
One of the slugs caught her in the left leg. All the feeling instantly disappeared. She screamed as another struck the inside of her right thigh. She spotted the guard aiming with his machine gun. Fighting off a wave of nausea, she pointed her pistol at the assailant.
“Go!” she screamed as she opened fire. The lurching raft threw off her aim, and only one of the five shots hit her target; it was enough to send the man to the floor and crawling for cover.
The slide locked back as she expended the last of her shots. She tried to re-holster the pistol. Her arm twitched; the gun fell from her grip.
She hung in the air, left leg dangling uselessly, as the cable reeled her toward the shuttle. She looked at the carnage in the courtyard, bodies strewn like carelessly dropped toys.
Moran was missing.
“Fifteen seconds,” Ship told Gerard.
“Okay,” Gerard paused for five more seconds. “Now!” he said.
Ship’s tractor field generator hummed into life, and the beam reached aft, snagging the power net enclosed behind her. A muted roar filled the cockpit as the engines increased to full throttle, and several higher rumbles announced a salvo of HEAP missiles from Ship’s two launchers.
Covering his ears at the sudden onslaught of noise, Trey yelled, “I hope this works.”
Gerard watched the screens, smiling with satisfaction. The freighter’s front bulkhead, unshielded from kinetic attacks, disintegrated in flame and debris under the point-blank missile fire, creating a large, jagged hole. The two Frigates, caught off guard by the sudden increase in Ship’s speed, were pulled along by Ship’s tractor beam.
