by Nick Webb
“Ops says two more carriers are lost,” Kit said, grimly. “But they say to guard the carrier until the repair crew on board can fix the hull penetration unit.”
“And if they can’t? Sounds like they’re not doing too hot over there. Repair crew could be dead.”
Kit shook his head. “They didn’t say.”
Still eyeing the construction ring’s bulkhead, a thought struck Jake.
“Rooster, fire a quick burst at that bay door over there.”
Kit snapped his head over to the pilot. “You’re kidding, right? Our orders are to take the shipyards undamaged.”
“Mostly undamaged, Rooster, mostly undamaged. Come on. Just a quick burst. I’ll get on the horn to Daniels.” He thumbed on the comm. “Daniels, Viper six. Are you fellas ready for boarding?”
Daniels’ deep voice sounded over the speakers. “Yes, sir. About two hundred grunts locked and loaded. But sir—”
Two hundred? Out of four hundred? Jake shook his head in quiet disbelief. “Just get your helmets on, soldier. Prepare for vacuum—”
Kit’s voice interrupted. “Contact. Two o’clock and down.”
“Crash, you got them?” Jake said.
“On it, Shotgun,” said the voice over the comm, and Jake saw the other fighter sweep past to meet the intruder.
Kit turned to Jake. “Ok, what the hell do you think you’re going to do?”
“We’re going to blast a hole in that bay door and the marines will disembark in vacuum and secure the entryways into that bay.”
“No, we’re not. That bay isn’t even half as big as the carrier. She’ll never fit in there.”
Jacob waved a hand. “The tail will fit in, at least. That’s all they need.”
“And what if it doesn’t work, Jake? That’s two hundred soldiers out there.”
“If it doesn’t work, the empire wins. Dammit, Kit, they know what they signed up for. So do you. This is their best chance to get on that ring. The sooner this thing is secure, the sooner we can move on to Tranquility base, and then out to the Jupiter and Saturn bases. That’s going to take weeks, and by then the empire will have put down the November rebellion and will turn to focus on us. We’re not a prize the emperor will let slip out of his hands lightly.”
Kit threw up his hands. “It’s crazy, Jake, let’s think this through.”
“I have. Now fire! That’s an order.”
Kit glared at him. His friend resented any mention of their disparate ranks; after all, they joined the Resistance Fleet at the same time. “Yes, sir.” His lips curled.
Red streaks shot out from the fighter and punctured the bay door, and they watched as the interior atmosphere steamed out through the gaping hole left behind.
“Again. Take out the whole door.”
“Jake, these guns aren’t meant for cutting. I’ll have to unload our whole battery at that thing to get it off.”
He was right. Jake supposed his gunner felt a little smug for revealing to him the obvious, but his mind was already moving.
Flipping the ship around one-eighty, he brought the tail right up next to the door, five meters off. Locking onto the orbital vector of the shipyards and engaging the gravitic brake—which would ensure no drift in the ship’s position relative to the construction ring—he punched the conventional thrusters to full power. Past full power.
Ten shafts of white-hot exhaust blazed out from the rear. Within moments, they’d had their effect, and a huge section of the door crumpled inward. Cutting the thruster power, he thumbed open the comm.
“Daniels, you’re clear to go. Navigate the carrier so your ass sticks into that bay, then engage a gravitic brake.”
“Gravitics are out, sir. Thrusters only.”
Damn.
“Told you we should have thought it through,” said Kit.
Jake ignored him. “Daniels, maneuver in anyway, and wedge the ship against what’s left of the bay door, then fire full reverse thrusters for a quarter of a second. That’ll get you stuck in there nice and good. Rooster and I will back up against you and hold you in for a minute till you guys can all disembark. All suited up?”
“Affirmative, sir. Just give the word.”
Jake smiled. “Go! Happy hunting.”
“Aye, sir.”
Kit eyed the sensor screen for contacts, and assured that they were clear, looked out at the raging space battle all around them. “You better hope this works.”
“It will, Kit.” Jake eyed the concern on Kit’s face. “And if it doesn’t, it’s all my responsibility. You’re clear of this.” He wondered what would happen to him if it didn’t work, if somehow the marines got stuck outside the carrier but couldn’t get inside the hallways beyond the landing bay. Demoted, most likely. Sent to prison for a few months or years—the Resistance had no problem recruiting these days and he was certainly replaceable.
They watched as the carrier slowly rotated into position, its rear flank pointing towards the gaping hole in the bay door. Thin white jets streamed out of the front thrusters—less than one percent power, Jacob judged—and the craft gradually drifted backward into the hole, until he could almost swear he heard the creaking and squealing of the protesting metal. In fact, they did hear it, coming over the open comm.
Jake nodded. “That’s right, Daniels, nice and easy. When you stop, punch it for a quarter second.”
“Aye, sir.”
The carrier inched backward, until finally the remains of the metal door had given all they could yield, and the advance stopped. The thrusters roared to life for a fraction of a second and the carrier jolted backward momentarily, wedging itself firmly into place. Jake maneuvered the front of the fighter up to the ruined remains of the carrier, until the nose of his craft nestled firmly in the wreckage. Jake smiled. Like they’re kissing.
Groaning metal reverberated through the cabin as Jake applied nominal power to the aft thrusters. “That’s it, Daniels, we’re nudged up against you good and tight. It’s all you now. Good luck, soldier.”
“Thank you, viper six. Give us two minutes to get out. We’ll leave a medic behind to tend the wounded, so don’t go nowhere. Daniels out.”
Just as the marine signed off, Kit swore. “Multiple contacts. Six o’clock. Three—no four. And that’s not all. Jake,” he looked up to the pilot, “they’re coming from a new capital ship that shifted into orbit just ten klicks away. Corsican. From Bismark, by the looks of it.”
So, a Bismarkian capital ship. Jake gritted his teeth. Bismark was the other world, along with New Kyoto and Corsica, that formed the first triumvirate of worlds in the early Corsican empire, and had the reputation of being the most ruthless of the three. He peered out the viewport.
Sure enough, there it was, just barely visible, barreling towards Liberty Station. Packed with over fifty railguns and a host of laser turrets and ion-beam cannons, the massive Bismarkian capital cruiser had built up a reputation for itself over the years—one of heavy-handed repression and destruction.
“I assume command has seen it. Ask for more cover,” said Jake. He heard Kit talk with central command as he thumbed his comm open. “Crash, you see that?”
“Yeah, I see it. We’re about to have one hell of a ride.”
Kit turned to look at him. “Command says the Fury is still occupied with the other two Corsican capital ships. They can spare two squads of fighters and three frigates to help, but that’s it.” He glanced out the side viewport at the rapidly approaching vessel. “They’re nearly here.”
A slow whistle over the comm burst the momentary silence. “Well doesn’t that just suck Rooster’s giant co—”
“Crash, cover us until the last of the marines get off the carrier, then we’re heading out there with you,” Jake said, interrupting the man before Kit blew a gasket.
“What about the medics and wounded still on board?”
“We can defend them better if we’re directly engaging the enemy rather than sitting here with our ass exposed.”
At least, that’s what Jake hoped.
***
Corporal Daniels sprang out onto the wide ramp of the carrier with four other marines and dashed to the entrance door of the landing bay, the boots of their armored ASA suits pounding against the debris-littered deck. There was no echo to hear since the bay was at vacuum, but their All-Situation-Armor had about an hour’s supply of oxygen so he was not particularly worried about air at the moment. What worried him was that the door from the bay into the rest of the central shaft was closed, and probably locked. A stocky marine bent down to test the handle, and sure enough, it didn’t budge.
“Stand aside,” said the marine next to him, a wiry young woman shouldering a plasma-rpg launcher.
“Take cover!” she yelled, but didn’t even wait for anyone to move or crouch down. Their ASA suits would more than protect them, and besides, they were in a hurry, dammit.
A bright ball of intense, blinding energy shot across the bay, slamming into the door. Extreme induced temperature gradients within the door vaporized pockets of metal, sending twisted fragments blasting out in all directions, peppering the surrounding marines who at least shielded their faces, and when the smoke cleared—smoke looks so odd in a vacuum, Daniels thought—the battalion began the advance through the door into the hallway beyond.
“Fox team, secure barracks and armory. Delta and Echo teams, secure command hub. Omega team, on me. Move!” Daniels still couldn’t believe he was barking out orders to a squad of marines. He had only enlisted in the Resistance Defense Service just a year ago. But with all his commanders dead, what was a grunt to do? If he hadn’t been secretly recruited by the Intelligence Service just three months ago, he might not even have been here in space but back on the ground, fighting the Corsicans on their military bases scattered across the world.
Assault rifle at the ready he crept out into the hallway, following another group of soldiers. Good. No resistance so far. Well, good or bad, depending on how one looks at it. Daniels glanced down at his oxygen level indicator and saw he had well over ninety percent left.
“Private, what’s the status of that door? Can it sustain atmospheric pressure?” He looked at one of the young men he knew had tech experience and motioned towards the door at the end of the hallway.
The short marine ran forward and examined the door controls. “Looks like it. We just need to get to the other side somehow without losing all the air behind it.” His voice suggested to Daniels that the kid was from the North American deep south. Alabama, probably, or Mississippi.
“Isn’t there an emergency bulkhead we can activate somewhere along this hallway?”
“I’m on it,” replied the private, who ran back along the hallway past the entire battalion, stopping halfway to pull off a wall panel, revealing an access terminal. After some fiddling, he announced, pointing his armored finger back to Daniels, “Y’all might want to stand over there by the corporal. Once this thing comes down it ain’t going back up.”
After the battalion repositioned itself, the private keyed the terminal, and the emergency bulkhead began a rapid descent, bisecting the hallway and effectively cutting them off from their casket of a troop carrier, and the deadly vacuum of space.
“Now blast the door. And hold on to something, people, the other side’s pressurized.”
The same marine with the plasma-rpg launcher took aim at the door at the end of the hall and fired once everyone had braced themselves. With a massive rush, the air on the other side filled their hallway, and after the air, gunfire.
“Suppressing fire! Forward teams advance to cover! Go!” And so the real battle began. Daniels rushed forward into the maelstrom of bullets, most of which glanced off his armor, but occasionally out of the corner of his eye he saw a comrade fall, the projectile having found one of the few weak spots in their ASA suits. He kicked in a door halfway down the hall and raised his assault rifle.
A group of terrified mechanics huddled in a corner with their hands raised. Daniels pointed them out to the marine following him. “Watch them. We can’t leave our backs exposed.” He pointed to the squad of marines that had followed him through the door for cover. “Omega squad? Let’s get this over with. Advance down to the next room and we’ll cover,” he said, rapping another marine on the helmet. “We’ll hopscotch down the hall. The entrance to the construction ring is halfway down. Form up there.”
The men and women snapped into action. Most had been soldiers in the United Earth Defense Force for years, but only recently had everyone present signed on to the Resistance openly. There had been little time to get to know one another. Most were from disparate units, brought together only recently to liberate Earth from the Corsicans. Most of the other Earth Defense Force units had not dared to make their Resistance leanings known, but he was sure that a vast majority of the soldiers in the militaries of the five nations of Earth wanted the Corsicans out.
And it was only a few months ago that he’d joined the intelligence service as a tactical field officer. Reporting directly to Admiral Pritchard himself. He’d been so proud of that—he’d itched to tell his father—but the actual existence of the military’s new intelligence service was classified top-secret, compartmentalized. So secret that not even the Corsicans knew. Daniels wasn’t even sure the president of North America knew. But Pritchard had assured them all it was necessary, and that they’d see the fruits of their labors very soon.
He had damn well better be right.
***
A minute later, the medic on the carrier signaled that the marine deployment was complete, and Jake eased the fighter away from the wreckage of the ship wedged into the massive bay door.
“Contacts on us in ten seconds,” said Kit. “The Bismarkian ship is advancing up on one of our straggling troop carriers. Its escorts are engaging, but—” Kit broke off. Jake looked out his side viewport. The giant capital ship loomed ever closer, and two tiny explosions next to it indicated the fighter escort’s demise, followed by the far more sizable blast of the troop carrier catching a full barrage of railgun fire from the newly arrived imperial ship.
The comm crackled on. “This is Admiral Deodatus of the Corsican Empire ship NPQR Behemoth, broadcasting to all rebel vessels. I bring a message from the Emperor and President of the Corsican Senate. A message of amnesty and good will. Cease fire immediately, and you—each of you—will be granted a full pardon. If you do not comply, you will be destroyed to maintain the pax humana.” The voice had a thick German accent, indicative of its Bismarkian heritage, but the name was definitely Corsican. All Corsicans of any status, regardless of their origin, adopted Roman names when they attained any rank or power within the empire, admirals and captains included.
Silence. The fighters that had been closing on their position now maintained their distance. Kit glanced over at Jake. “You believe him?”
Jake shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Not on your life.”
The comm crackled to life again, this time with a distinguished English accent. “This is Admiral Pritchard of the USS Fury, speaking for all United Earth ships. Admiral Deodatus, good day to you, sir.” The Admiral’s voice sang out of the speakers as if the British gentleman were simply inviting a dear friend over for tea. “I’ve been in contact with Earth Fleet command in Dallas, and I believe I have an answer for your Emperor. I may not have my terminology quite right, sir, my North-American counterparts employ an odd vocabulary at times, but my superiors have directed me to answer you … to suck our hairy balls. I believe they meant bollocks, sir. Also, to get the hell off our comm channel—it’s what we’re using to communicate with each other to blow you out of the sky, after all—do be a gentleman about it.”
Jake and Kit, in spite of themselves and their grim situation, snorted with laughter. The British Admiral, in the short time Jake had served under him, had won over the undying loyalty of every space jock in the fleet with his deadpan wit, and more importantly, his brilliantly wicked second sense of strat
egy and tactics.
Admiral Deodatus’s voice boomed over the speakers in response. “Pritchard, come now. We went to the academy together. You were just a few years ahead of me, but I saw you there. I respected you. Everyone respected you—you were brilliant, after all, no finer tactician in the fleet. Now look at what you’ve become. You’ve spilled the innocent blood of thousands, all in the name of an unjust war for an unjust cause. The Pax Humana has ensured peace and prosperity for over a hundred years against the pirates and scum that would rob us of our freedom and our lives. Is that what you want? To return to those dark days?”
Admiral Pritchard answered immediately. “From the frying pan into the fire, I say. At least with pirates we didn’t have to request in triplicate if we could blow our noses, old boy. No, I believe our answer is what it always has been. Get the hell off our world, and then we will talk. Good day, sir. All hands, continue the battle plan. Pritchard out.”
“Pritchard, I—” Admiral Deodatus began to protest, but the comm cut out—jamming no doubt from the USS Fury. Within moments, a barrage of railgun fire erupted from the Behemoth, pelting the approaching frigates with a withering assault of explosive projectiles. The two promised squadrons of fighters descended on the massive capital ship and began blasting away at the railgun turrets and ion beam cannons, dodging the fire of both the Behemoth and the swarm of enemy fighters that spilled out of its bays.
“Kit, let’s get over there. What happened to those contacts?”
“They changed course to intercept the frigates engaging the Behemoth.”
Jake pushed the controls forward and the fighter leaped out to join the fray. He had never flown in such chaos—railgun fire sailed past in a blur, and a torrent of ion fire and conventional fighter gunfire raked across his field of view as he leaped and dodged and looped his way through the raging battle. “Crash, cover us while we take out that tower,” he yelled into the comm as he sped toward an ion beam cannon installation on the huge, M-shaped cruiser.
