The words sounded only a little hollow. As far as Griffin was concerned, Yeringar had done what needed to be done. The Broadsword accelerated steadily and, once it was far enough from the ground forces, Griffin gave it everything. With a roar, the heavy cruiser’s engines hurled it through the storm on the course set by Yeringar’s team on the Revingol.
“Are the ground forces aware of the plan?” asked Lieutenant Jackson.
“Yes they are,” said Lieutenant Murray. “They’ve been told to stay low until we can fix things for them. The troops near Refuge 9 are instructed to go through the teleporter and shoot any Raggers who come after them.”
“I got a ping off something high above,” said Shelton. “Damn, I lost it.”
“There’s another ping,” said Dominguez. She swore, letting Griffin know the outcome of this second sighting.
“The Raggers are coming in,” said Griffin.
“Well isn’t this going to be just the best party?” asked Shelton.
“They haven’t fired at the Refuge 9 site,” said Kroll. “Must be they’re planning to take it with force of arms.”
“It gives our troops time to get inside,” said Griffin. “Maybe they can temporarily disable the access teleporter on the far side to stop the Raggers giving chase.”
“I don’t recall Captain Conway saying anything about that, sir,” said Kenyon. “Doesn’t mean it can’t be done, I guess.”
Under Griffin’s guidance, the Broadsword sped low across Glesia’s surface. At one point, the storm’s intensity faded, leaving the warship exposed to any Ragger ships which might be watching. Griffin banked and banked again, to throw off a potential railgun shot. The enemy were either elsewhere or not inclined to fire and the Broadsword attained the cover of clouds and ice. It wasn’t enough to make Griffin feel secure.
At the given coordinates, he slowed the spaceship, added some parameters to the autopilot and allowed the battle computer to fly in a randomized pattern over a twenty-klick area of the surface. The moment he handed off, Griffin felt the spaceship turn and climb. Its propulsion rose and fell as the computer made constant adjustments, which tested the life support and gave the crew a sensation of creeping nausea. Griffin ignored the sickness in his stomach – he had better things to worry about.
“What orders?” he demanded.
“We’ve had the first flyover of both sites already, sir. No sign of Raggers.”
“They can land with active stealth,” Kroll pointed out.
“But they can’t deploy troops too easily. Those stealth suits won’t fool our warship sensors,” said Shelton.
“When is it our turn to have a look?” asked Griffin.
“We’re not on the roster, sir,” said Kenyon. “Neither is the Gradior.”
“Find out why.”
“Yes, sir.”
Griffin tried to remain calm while he waited. He was sure this wasn’t a simple oversight, which meant that Admiral Yeringar had other plans for the Broadsword.
Kenyon was left waiting on the answer. Impatiently, Griffin ordered Lieutenant Murray to request a channel to the Gradior.
“Captain Isental,” he greeted the Fangrin.
“Captain Griffin,” growled the alien. He sounded pissed off, though this wasn’t unusual.
“We’re not on the attack roster. Any idea why?”
“Because our ships are damaged,” said the Fangrin at once. “Though the Gradior is fully capable.”
“I’d say that about the Broadsword, but if it takes a hit in the wrong place, it’ll suffer a hull breach.”
“Perhaps Admiral Yeringar does not wish to risk further losses from his fleet.”
The answer was different. From the corner of his eye, Griffin saw Kenyon waving to get his attention. He cut the channel to Isental.
“Sir, the Broadsword and the Gradior are to ready their tharniol detonators to allow for a remote destruction order.”
The pieces fell into place. “I thought Admiral Yeringar had rejected the idea of blowing up the Sekar battleship,” said Griffin.
“A couple of damaged heavy cruisers must be an easier price to pay than four undamaged lights,” said Kenyon without sounding like he agreed.
“Lieutenant Kroll – how long will it take to put those orders into motion?”
“The maintenance crews will need to remove some failsafe hardware from each detonator, I’ll make some changes on my console and lastly, this will require security codes from the ship’s commanding officer.”
“How long?”
“An hour.”
“I haven’t been told anything other than we are to make ready,” said Kenyon.
“Speak to the Revingol again and find out more. Blowing up my own ship is bad enough, but if there’s a risk to my crew I want to know about it.”
“I already asked, sir. I’ll ask again.”
“And keep asking.”
While Kenyon got on digging for information, Griffin passed the order to his maintenance crew to prepare the detonators. He overrode various security settings, which allowed Lieutenant Kroll to begin his own modifications.
With that done, Griffin sat and waited for news that the other members of AF1 had engaged with the enemy. His mind tried to predict the future and as usual it came up with a list of possibilities, none of which seemed more likely than any other. The Broadsword was his spaceship and, though it wasn’t so capable as the Hurricane which came before it, Griffin had grown attached to this construction of alloys and tech. Losing it, even in a good cause, would feel like a kick in the balls.
He sighed and the wait continued.
Chapter Five
To Conway’s relief, the Raggers didn’t completely saturate the area with incendiaries. The first cannister burned out and he heard another going off elsewhere with a whump. Beneath the battleship’s hull, Conway and his squad experienced a momentary, tremendous spike in heat which faded as quickly as it came.
When the two incendiaries were done, the missile bombardment started. Most of the deployed soldiers were near the battleship’s hull and that was where the missiles hit. Their flashes of plasma, which normally seemed bright and expansive enough to instill fear and awe in ground troops, were almost insignificant in comparison to the vastness of the wrecked spaceship. Still, where they landed, people died. The comms channels were filled with the voices of officers trying to force order onto a situation of chaos.
To Conway’s faint surprise, Colonel Thornton knew exactly how to act under duress and he was doing a good job in the most difficult of circumstances. A short while after the missile strike on the Iron Cell, word came through that AF1 had withdrawn from the area.
“They’re leaving us to it, folks,” said Conway.
“We’re on our own?” asked Kemp.
“I don’t know I’d say exactly that, Private. This place always threatened to turn into a flashpoint and now it’s happened.”
“In case you hadn’t guessed, Attack Fleet 1 is hoping to make things difficult for the Raggers by pulling out and returning with missiles when those alien bastards deploy,” said Barron.
“Just great,” said Torres. “Does that mean we’re expected to stay under cover while two hundred warships beat the crap out of each other?”
“That’s what it sounds like to me,” said Berg. “And don’t forget, the Raggers will have to put their own troops down if they want to capture any intel.”
“Logic suggests they’ll do that at Refuge 9,” said Lieutenant Rembra. “If they deploy in the vicinity of this battleship, the Raggers and their warships will be vulnerable.”
“You don’t sound too convinced, Lieutenant,” said Kemp.
“I am not.”
Conway let them talk, so that he could find out what everyone was thinking. It was cramped underneath the warship and his neck was bent uncomfortably in order that he could gain an extra meter of cover. Where his suit helmet pushed against the black surface, he felt the slight sponginess of the spaceship’s hull. It was somehow
unpleasant.
“Sir, what’s that next to your head?” asked Kemp.
It seemed like one of those stupid things said to make a person jump in alarm, and it took Conway a split second to realize that Kemp wasn’t just pissing about at an inappropriate time. He twisted uncomfortably and noticed a very slight ridge on the battleship’s hull. Conway twisted some more and ran his fingertips over it.
“Looks like a seam,” he said.
“Could be a way in, sir.”
“Give me a bit of room,” Conway ordered.
With that done, he lay flat on his back in order to look directly at the dark surface. His eyes traced the line of the ridge – it went further beneath the battleship, but it also cut horizontally, following a line forward to aft. It was perfectly straight, but also indistinct, like it was imperfectly made.
He had an idea in his head which seemed preposterous at first. Conway thought about it some more and the idea developed a dirty allure that he couldn’t ignore.
“What’s up, sir?” asked Kemp. “You look like a nest of ants just crawled inside your combat suit.”
“I’m not sure. Something’s not right about this.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Yeah, right,” said Torres.
“No sign of an activation panel,” said Conway. Without light, it was difficult to get a good idea of whether this really was an access hatch.
“It could be deeper under,” said Barron. “Though you’d need to be like the thinnest man in the Unity League to get in there.”
Conway aimed his helmet torch and turned it on for a full second. The beam’s light allowed him to see that the hull seam went as far as where the spaceship and the ground met.
“How do we get in, sir?” asked Private Warner. “Maybe our suits will interface like they did in Refuge 9?”
It didn’t seem likely, but Conway tested anyway. His suit didn’t find anything to link with. From what he’d seen, the hatch was a big one, so maybe the access panel was somewhere nearby but out of range.
“Colonel Thornton put a hold on the search,” said Freeman. “And then we found this.”
“Let him know, Corporal.”
“He’s noted our position, sir. If we can get inside, do it. Otherwise, hunker down and wait for developments.”
Conway hated sitting around and the idea which was growing in his mind demanded he act. He was on the verge of doing so when a new wave of missiles streaked out of the sky. Through the darkness they came, their approach heralded by pinpoints of white propulsion. The missiles flew so fast that Conway couldn’t judge where they would impact. All he could do was order his soldiers to keep low, when they were already as far beneath the battleship as they could manage.
This volley of missiles was far more extensive than those previous and the detonations came so rapidly that each one added to the previous, producing a rolling wave of explosive sound which got progressively louder. To his horror, Conway realized the blasts were coming closer. The angle of his sight wasn’t perfect, but he got the impression that a wall of harsh white was approaching him, unstoppable and deadly.
“Ah shit,” said Kemp.
The wave of missiles ended and the light and sound faded. Conway crept a few paces out, in order that he could see better. About a hundred meters towards the forward section of the ship, the inside of the crater was glowing with an angry red and he saw similar patches beyond. He crept back.
“They’re bombarding the crater where it joins the battleship,” he said. “We got lucky there – the last missile blew up a hundred meters that way.”
“Sir, I think Colonel Thornton and most of his team are dead,” said Freeman. “He was at the nose and I can’t get in touch with anyone.”
“Keep trying, Corporal. They’ll have everyone asking questions at once.”
“What about the next bunch of missiles, sir?” asked Warner. “Where the last wave ended, that’s where they’ll start the new one.”
Conway recognized the logic and agreed with the assessment. The Raggers were doing everything possible to prepare the ground for their own troops and this was the result. A fast decision was required and Conway made one.
“Everyone get over there,” he said, pointing to a spot a few meters to his left.
Conway hauled himself a little way out from the confines and lifted his rifle. He was brought short by the sound of a vast explosion, which shook the ground. An angry-glowing patch of light appeared in the sky, at an altitude of only a few hundred meters – it was a spaceship, blazing from multiple warhead detonations. The vessel’s engines grumbled with low bass and it accelerated along a course parallel to the battleship.
“Ours?” asked Kemp.
Conway squinted, but he couldn’t determine if this was an allied or enemy craft. The stricken warship was hit again, this time by what appeared to be fifty plasma warheads at once. The combined blast spheres burned like a midsummer sun and the darkness fled. With his eyes tightly narrowed and the automatic tint on his visor at maximum, Conway witnessed the death of the spaceship. Pieces of it were thrown and scattered, carried away from the squad’s hiding place by the momentum of its failed attempt at escape.
“That’s gotta be a Ragger ship,” said Torres. “About to hit us with missiles and now it’s gone.”
“They have plenty more,” said Conway. “Now get clear.”
He stayed put and waited until the last soldier was a short distance from where he crouched. When Conway was satisfied that nobody was close enough to be struck by ricochets, he adjusted his position and pointed his Gilner at the hatch with the barrel angled away from everyone.
He gave the trigger a single, gentle squeeze. His shoulder absorbed the recoil and a tharniol-coated bullet exited the barrel. The bullet didn’t ricochet. Instead, it punched through the hatch and disappeared. In fascination, Conway watched the entry hole expand, rapidly at first and then slowing, until it formed an irregular opening about twelve inches across.
“Well look at that,” he said.
Conway leaned forward and pressed his visor against the hole. It was dark and he couldn’t see how far the bullet had penetrated. A gentle breeze wafted from the interior, which gave him some hope. He activated his helmet light for a moment.
“It went through?” asked Freeman.
Conway looked to the side and found his squad shuffling towards him, eager to see the results.
“Stay there,” he warned.
The soldiers halted and Conway took aim at the hatch once more. He shot again, near to the initial bullet hole, changed aim and shot again. In ten seconds, his magazine was empty and the hatch was filled with ugly, overlapping holes. Forty shots weren’t enough to create an opening wide enough for a human, let alone a Fangrin.
“Gundro, bring that chain gun.”
If the space was tight for Conway, it was much worse for a hulking Fangrin. Without complaint, Gundro struggled his way closer.
“Shoot us a new door,” Conway ordered.
The firing position was clearly awkward and Gundro made a few angry noises. He didn’t let it slow him down and he opened up with the chain gun. The multiple barrels spewed out a hundred or more tharniol rounds, while the Fangrin adjusted his aim to ensure his shots weren’t all concentrated in the same place.
Gundro released the trigger. The motor of his gun cut out and the barrels steamed in the freezing air.
“Done,” he growled.
The hatch wasn’t pretty, but the opening was big enough. Whatever the Sekar aliens were made of, it seemed like their spaceships were built from the same stuff. And in the same way, tharniol was a sure-fire method of doing it some damage.
“We’re going in,” said Conway. “That’s unless anyone’s got a better idea? Like waiting around for missiles?”
“Hell no,” said Corporal Brice.
Conway went first. The hole formed by the tharniol bullets began about a meter from the ground and sloped upwards at a sh
arp angle. The way the battleship material reacted to the tharniol meant that the sides were crazily uneven, though not sharp except in a couple of places.
The passage through the battleship’s armor was in excess of three meters long and Conway emerged into an open space with a floor canted at a twenty-degree angle. He switched on his helmet light, which revealed he was in what he took to be an airlock, large enough to hold forty or more humans. The exit door was sealed, but he could deal with that later.
“Get your asses in here,” he ordered.
Lieutenant Rembra was the first inside and he emerged with surprising grace into the airlock. After that came Corporal Barron. One-by-one, the squad arrived.
Conway didn’t wait and he ordered Rembra to put a few bullets into the next door. In the airlock space the sound of chain gun discharge was curiously muted, with none of the usual ferocity associated with Fangrin weaponry. In four or five seconds, it was done.
“Let’s see what’s on the other side,” said Conway. “Before the next missile strike comes in.”
The slope of the floor wasn’t enough to challenge his grip and he stepped sideways into the ragged gap. This time, the opening wasn’t much more than a single meter deep and Conway got through it without difficulty.
On the far side, he was able to stand normally in what was a passage that went in three directions – forward, aft and towards the center. The only light was that from his head torch and it illuminated the matte black surfaces. He stepped a few paces away to allow the others some room, turning his head in order to take in the details.
From its size, the passage had been designed to accommodate creatures no bigger than Fangrin. It wasn’t cramped, but neither was it expansive. When Conway placed his hand on the nearest wall, he felt the same sponginess he was expecting.
The last man – Private Berg – entered the passage at the same time as a missile barrage came down outside. The flash of light made Conway shout for everyone to get away from the opening. The soldiers threw themselves to the sides and dropped prone. An extended series of detonations went off outside and heat channeled into the battleship. Conway’s HUD gave him a red warning and he waited for a jet of plasma fire to come into the passage.
Nullifier (Fire and Rust Book 6) Page 4
