All hell broke loose. The chain gun spewed a storm of bullets into the room. As Conway hoped, its sensor could identify targets wearing stealth suits. For a moment, it seemed like the entire room was filled with blood. Gallon upon gallon of it burst from chewed-up, ruptured bodies. The droplets froze instantly in the subzero temperatures and they caught the dull light, glistening and turning the room into a crimson snow globe.
The squad fired too. The Fangrin raked the room with their own chain guns. Rembra’s gun ran out of ammunition within two seconds, but the others delivered sustained carnage to add to the devastation inflicted by the ceiling gun.
Not all of the human soldiers fired their rifles. Several members of the squad tore grenades free from their side clips and arced them into the exit passages. The brightness of the explosions was lessened by the proximity of the Sekar and Conway was able to make out the dark shapes of Raggers caught in the blasts.
It seemed like the chain gun fired for hours, as though time slowed to allow Conway to witness every detail. The chunks of flesh, the smears of frozen blood on the walls, the clattering of gun fire against alloy panels – Conway saw it all and a detached part of his mind watched dispassionately while he side-armed grenades above the chain gun’s line of fire.
When it was finally over, Conway was surprised that the butchery had taken less than fifteen seconds to complete. The floor was carpeted in fresh Ragger corpses – far too many for the squad to have defeated in open combat, with or without full magazines.
“Anyone hurt?” asked Conway.
The computer which controlled the ceiling gun combined precision and accuracy. It had avoided hitting the squad and it had evidently caught the Raggers with such complete surprise that the enemy hadn’t been able to land a single shot. It was probably a miracle, Conway reflected.
“Who’s carrying chili sauce?” asked Warner. “Private Kemp has a bowl of soup to eat.”
“Scrape some up and I’ll have it later.”
“Quiet,” said Conway, waving impatiently with one hand.
The outcome of this confrontation was better than anyone could have expected, but Conway didn’t know if it was over. The officers barked commands to get everyone moving to cover the exits. Some Raggers had been slaughtered – that didn’t mean they were all dead.
Unwilling to lose anyone by assuming victory, Conway held them for long moments in the room. He turned his helmet microphone to maximum and listened carefully. He heard magnified sounds of the facility, though nothing that might have been Raggers.
“We cannot wait long,” said Rembra. “Even if we killed every one of the cannibal [Translation Unclear], they might send more.”
“One sensible option is to wait and another, equally sensible option, is to get the hell out of here,” said Conway.
He was familiar with such irreconcilable conflicts. Over the years, he’d gradually come to realize that the best option in these circumstances was to take whatever action would bring the mission goals closer.
“Time to go?” asked Lockhart.
“Yes – let’s run for the teleporter.”
They returned to the place where they’d first met the now-dead Raggers. No more of the aliens showed up and Conway was hopeful they’d all perished to the automated defenses. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that the Ragger stealth suits made them over-confident. They’d become so accustomed to winning that they took unnecessary risks and their mistakes were something Conway was more than happy to exploit.
When they came to the teleporter, Conway interfaced with the access panel and the door opened. Stepping across the threshold, his eyes jumped to the ammunition readout on his Gilner. 9/40 and no rounds left to replace the missing ones.
The door closed and the teleporter began its activation cycle.
“What’s the next shit for us to deal with, sir?” asked Torres.
“What makes you think we’re in for some more?” Conway asked.
“Is that a promise that we’re in the clear, sir?”
“Screw you,” said Conway with a laugh.
“Say, Captain, how did you know the ceiling gun was loaded?” asked Warner.
Conway could have answered that he assumed the activate command wouldn’t be available if the gun was empty, to make it seem like he was in control. Instead, he gave the truth. “I didn’t.”
“We won, they lost,” said Torres. “Them’s the breaks.”
“Yeah. Them’s the breaks.”
The teleporter activated and the squad got ready. Everyone knew they might run into enemy soldiers on the surface. If the Raggers had set a guard on the topside door, Conway couldn’t imagine a way any of his squad was going to get out alive. The thought of failure after going through so much was hard to stomach.
When the outer door opened, the soldiers were greeted by darkness flecked with ice. The wind howled and droned through the ruins and irregular piles of blocks were visible in every direction. Conway dashed outside, his eyes searching for signs of hostiles. The others came afterwards and they headed in a pre-arranged direction, filtering between the stone blocks, keeping low and communicating on the open channel.
The early signs were hopeful in that nobody got killed. When your opponents were nearly invisible, it was a situation that could change at any moment. Conway waited until he was at the outer wall and then he crouched in the cover of stone in order to send a comms message to whoever was listening. His suit detected plenty of friendly receptors and he requested a channel to the spaceship where he knew he’d get heard without having to argue through layers of command.
Lieutenant Kenyon answered at once. Conway gave a rapid status update and asked for guidance and pickup. When he learned that Fangrin missiles were inbound, Conway’s heart sank and he waved the soldiers into cover.
Seconds after, the missiles struck and their light was clearly visible through the gaps in the side wall. Pieces of white-hot Ragger transport were thrown into the air and Conway was sure it was destroyed along with any alien soldiers who were inside. It was a relief to learn that it was gone before he had the opportunity to stumble into the vessel or its soldiers in the darkness.
With the light and rumbling of the explosions still prominent, Conway finished his conversation quickly and stood up from his crouch. He clambered onto the lowest part of the building’s side wall. The wind’s fury increased with the exposure and ice shards pelted his combat suit. Gritting his teeth, Conway dropped down the far side and onto the ground, taking care not to slip on the ice.
With his squad emerging from the ruins, Conway hurried onwards to the nearest stone block which he used as cover. For a fleeting instant, he felt the lure of the Ragger shuttle. It offered shelter and the possibility of escape. He dismissed the idea – it seemed better to wait for the Iron Cell or whatever other craft was available.
Once everyone had gathered, Conway chose a direction which he thought would lead them to the huge boulder which had provided temporary shelter in the period after they’d first exited the Iron Cell. It felt like a lifetime ago.
The Refuge 9 base had one last gift. The death pulse went off again and Conway hoped like hell it would be the last time he’d have to suffer it again.
“That’s the last of the Sekar in the facility killed,” he said. “Now let’s get out of here.”
The ground was icy and the going was tough. Conway thought it likely that a few Raggers from the transport were alive – the ones which had left the vessel and hadn’t yet gone into the facility. He didn’t want to run into them, so went as fast as he dared. If the Raggers got wind of what the squad had taken from Refuge 9, this area of Glesia would be reduced to molten sludge and no one on foot could travel fast enough to avoid it. Conway tried to put it from his mind.
With the wind forever in their faces and the shards of ice smashing against their combat suits, the group of soldiers labored onwards. The Refuge 9 base was behind them, but the memories would never be forgotten.
Chapt
er Twenty-Five
Captain Jake Griffin was convinced the Ragger capital ship Prime011 was going to destroy both the Broadsword and the Gradior. He braced himself for the barrage of missile and railgun slugs which would rip apart his warship, killing everyone onboard.
Instead, the lights brightened and the controls became responsive once more. The propulsion gauge jumped to one hundred percent and Griffin’s body was pressed into his seat. He didn’t waste time gawping and resumed his evasive maneuvers. Likewise, the crew continued where they’d left off before the Ragger disruptor reduced the Broadsword to a defenseless target.
“Sensors back online,” said Dominguez. “I’ve located Prime011. Resuming search for cloaked Ragger ships.”
“Missiles incoming,” said Lieutenant Jackson. “Interceptors locked and launched.”
“Holy crap!” said Dominguez. “Where did all these come from?”
“We’ve got more than a hundred friendly green receptors in the vicinity, sir,” said Kenyon. He paused and Griffin detected his officer’s uncertainty, shock and surprise.
“Tell me what the hell is going on, Lieutenant.”
“We have joined the Attack Fleet 1 battle network, sir. Along with the Gradior.”
AF1 was lost, assumed destroyed, yet here it was above Glesia. The tactical screen answered Griffin’s next question. Green and red dots filled the display – so many that the dedicated processing unit powering the display was unable to cope.
“We’ve got more than a hundred Ragger ships visible to the battle network, sir,” said Shelton. “Plus the entirety of AF1. The two sides are engaged. Maximum firepower.”
The situation had morphed from one of guaranteed death into one of absolute chaos and uncertainty. Questions sprang into Griffin’s mind, far outnumbering the answers.
“Inbound missile wave partially destroyed, launching Shredder interceptors,” said Jackson.
“Should I let Admiral Yeringar know about the truce?” asked Kenyon, his voice full of doubt.
“What truce?” asked Kroll. “Those assholes just broke the truce.”
“Hold that comm, Lieutenant,” said Griffin. “The Raggers have shown how little the truce means to them. They’re going to learn what happens when you screw with us.”
“Hell yeah,” said Shelton.
“The Shredders have destroyed the last of the inbound missiles,” said Jackson.
Griffin’s opinion of the truce wasn’t too important given that the hostilities had progressed way beyond the point where the opponents could back off, accept a couple of bloody noses and shake hands. This was all-out conflict and Griffin was determined to do what he could to influence the result. The questions about how this had come about would wait until later.
Less than a minute had passed since the Broadsword came out of the disruptor’s influence and Griffin hadn’t let up on the controls. That short time at high speed had carried the heavy cruiser away from the thickest of the fighting. A glance at the tactical suggested that Prime011 had given up its pursuit in order to focus its weaponry upon the newly arrived Attack Fleet 1.
“Let’s get back in there,” Griffin said, banking into a wide arc which would take the Broadsword onto the periphery of AF1.
“Our aft plating won’t take much more damage, sir,” said Kroll. “Another strike in the same area as one of those railgun impacts will breach the hull.”
“We’ll be coming at them head-on, Lieutenant.”
“The Gradior is following our course,” said Dominguez.
The Fangrin warship was within ten klicks and turning sharply. On the port sensor feed, Griffin could see dull-glowing heat patches resulting from plasma missile detonations. He knew first-hand that the Gradior was tough. It would take more than a couple of missile blasts to knock it out.
“Sir, I don’t know if you’re going to believe this or be completely unsurprised,” said Lieutenant Kenyon. “I’ve got Captain Conway on the comms. He’s escaped from the facility and he’s brought the death pulse design documentation with him.”
“I’m not surprised,” Griffin lied. Sometimes even the best soldiers didn’t make it out alive. “What’s his status?”
“No ammo and they’re inside the entry point building.”
“The Gradior’s missiles are due to hit the Ragger transport right about now,” said Dominguez. “Tell him to stay clear.”
“Those missiles just went off,” said Kenyon. “No friendly deaths and it looks like the transport is out of action.”
“The Fangrin don’t take chances. Tell Captain Conway that it’s shit-on-fan time up here and that we can’t chance a rescue.”
“Sounds like he figured the response would be exactly that, sir. He’s going to find somewhere out of the way and asks that we refrain from using incendiaries or nukes anywhere nearby. Preferably nothing within two thousand klicks.”
Griffin smiled. “Captain Conway doesn’t have to worry about us,” he said. “I don’t think the Raggers will listen.”
“There’s something else, sir.” This time Kenyon sounded worried as hell. “Something about a tharniol sphere where all these ships were being held by the control entity in the facility below us. Captain Conway reckons there was a Sekar warship in with all the others – a real big one. He says it makes the Ragger mothership look like a toy transport shuttle in comparison.”
“Well damn,” said Griffin. “Does he have anything else for us?”
“No, sir.”
“Tell him to stay safe.”
“Will do. He’s gone, sir.”
“Pass the message and the coordinates on Glesia to the ships in AF1. We’ve got Priority 1 intel in the vicinity.” The significance of what Conway had pulled out of the facility began to sink in. “It’s something that could swing the war in our favor. And once you’ve given them the good news, let Admiral Yeringar know about the Sekar battleship.”
“The message is out there, sir.” Kenyon went silent while leaving himself in the bridge channel. It meant he was listening to something on a second channel at the same time. “We’ve had direct acknowledgement from Admiral Yeringar on the battleship Revingol. There’ll be no incendiaries in that area of Glesia.”
“What about the Sekar battleship?”
“He doesn’t know anything about the Sekar.”
“Have you told him what they can do?”
“Yes, sir. I have advised him that they can appear in the middle of our warships and that they are immune to everything except tharniol weaponry. Admiral Yeringar does not want to break off the engagement with the Raggers. He believes his fleet will be unable to make it to lightspeed and that he will suffer unacceptable casualties.”
“There’s no sign of a Sekar warship on the battle network sensor feeds, sir,” said Dominguez.
“I can’t imagine they’ll have cut and run.”
“Stealth tech?” asked Kroll.
Griffin swore. “We don’t know enough about their capabilities. If this warship is anything like the size Captain Conway says it is, there’s no way it’ll have escaped notice. Even if it has stealth tech, it’s likely they’ll require a few seconds to activate it. One of our ships would have seen something.”
“It’s a hell of a big unknown to be hanging over us,” said Kroll.
The words were an understatement. Unless the Sekar ship was acting contrary to everything known about this new species, it was out there somewhere. A thought of something else was bothering Griffin and he couldn’t quite pin it down.
“We’ll deal with it as it comes,” he said angrily. “Lieutenant Kenyon – alert our maintenance teams. They should arm themselves. I’ve removed the security locks from the ammunition cabinet in mess area 1. There are two dozen magazines of tharniol rounds inside.”
“I’ll let them know, sir. What about the rest of the fleet?”
“AF1 has no tharniol rounds. We’ve informed Admiral Yeringar – it’s his call.”
Griffin didn’t fear the tough decisi
ons but when they weren’t his to make, he followed orders. Now, with news of the soldiers’ escape at the end of what sounded like a successful mission and Admiral Yeringar – one of the Fangrin’s most accomplished officers - in charge, Griffin felt himself settling. Conway had done his bit and he couldn’t do any more. Now it was down to the brute force of the ULAF and Fangrin navies to finish things off. This was where Griffin was comfortable. Only the assumed presence of the Sekar ship was a big worry. Win or lose, Griffin could handle the Raggers.
“Lieutenant Jackson, pick a suitable target and focus it until it’s gone.”
“Yes, sir.” Jackson had evidently chosen already. “Firing front two Ultor clusters. Fine-tuning railguns…firing.”
The distance wasn’t too great and when it came to the railguns, Jackson was the best weapons officer Griffin had ever worked with. She scored two direct hits but couldn’t confirm a kill.
“Inbound fire,” she intoned. “Shredders locked. Shredders away.”
“Lieutenant Kenyon, request permission from Captain Isental to act as a pair. I’d like his expertise and his firepower.”
“Captain Isental agrees. He suggests we lead.”
The compliment wasn’t lost on Griffin and he told Kenyon to pass on his thanks. With that done, he gave his full attention to the thousands of different interplays between the warring sides. The Broadsword and Gradior were on the periphery of the action, with both ships travelling at a speed which would soon take them into the thick of it.
“It’s hard to tell which way this is going, sir,” said Dominguez. “There are more than two hundred spaceships distributed inside an area approximately half a million klicks in diameter.”
Griffin made an adjustment to the tactical. He switched off all missile overlays except for that of the Broadsword and zoomed out so that he could see every spaceship known to the AF1 battle network. The green and red dots moved without cease. Although Griffin’s hands were on the controls, most of his attention was on the tactical. He had a knack with patterns and he waited to see what his brain would make of the ebb and flow.
Refuge 9 (Fire and Rust Book 5) Page 21
