by Daniel Gibbs
“Captain, we’ve got hull ruptures in holds two, four, and six. Atmosphere is venting,” Douglas said, alarmed.
“Seal it off with emergency bulkheads,” Grant replied. “Maintain fire on the enemy.”
“Sir, we’re not built for this,” Douglas said as she tapped at her console. “The Farnborough can’t take sustained hull damage. We’ll blow apart in the middle.”
Grant was in no mood to hear any opposition. He would defeat the pirates—period. “Maintain fire on the enemy. Or I’ll have you escorted off the bridge and do it myself.”
“Yes, sir.” Douglas stole a glance at the communications officer.
They probably wish the old captain were here. I judged him too weak to accomplish the task. Grant stared at the sensor display as the pirate vessel turned on a dime and headed straight for them. I’ll give the bastards this… they don’t give up either. “Why aren’t we firing, tactical?”
“The last hits damaged our power relays. It's taking longer to charge the weapons enough to fire,” Douglas replied, exasperated. “Minimum charge achieved.”
“Fire,” Grant growled.
Again, the Q-ship lashed away at the enemy with her entire weapons suite. A well-coordinated salvo from her magnetic cannons and the port neutron-beam emitter inflicted severe damage to the corvette’s shields. During the final moment the beam was activated, it bored into the hull of the pirate craft, turning the armor plating molten.
Douglas sucked in a breath, and her eyes got a bit wider. “Inbound wormhole.”
If that’s our friend’s bulk hauler carrier… well, I might be leaving this plane of existence sooner than I’d expected. Grant stared straight ahead. Nothing he could do would change the outcome.
“CDF signature. It’s the Zvika Greengold.” Douglas exhaled loudly enough it that carried a meter to the captain's chair.
“Excellent.” Grant grinned. “Always in time, indeed.”
The artificial wormhole grew larger until it reached critical mass and burst open in a kaleidoscope of color. From it came the bow of the Greengold, followed quickly by the rest of the carrier. While it was still emerging, the newcomer turned toward the enemy. Her point-defense weaponry lashed out at the nearest pirate fighters, and two blue beams of death erupted from her bow, smacking the corvette’s shields. But they caught the undamaged side of the ship instead of the one the Farnborough had wounded.
“Send my compliments to Colonel Tehrani,” Grant said. “And tell her to get the Marines moving. We’ve got a ship to capture.”
Major Kosuke Nishimura, Terran Coalition Marine Corps, climbed through the hatch into one of three stealth breaching pods lined up neatly in the Zvika Greengold’s main hangar. Each held twenty Marines in full power armor along with their weapons. He’d handpicked each person on the craft, defaulting first to those who’d completed VBSS training on the way to Sol and participated in capturing the League freighter. The remaining few were those whom his senior enlisted man, Master Gunnery Sergeant Malcolm O’Connor, had picked out and vouched for. Between him and the platoon sergeants, they’d planned to assault the pirate corvette with two pods, leaving one in reserve in case resistance was unusually high. Nishimura felt the craft couldn’t have more than fifty crew members, and none of them could hold a candle to the training and weaponry of a TC Marine.
The interior was cramped even without nineteen other power-armored Marines. One by one, the rest of the team slid in and locked themselves into the anti-grav harnesses. Designed to support the extreme g-forces the pod could subject its occupants to, they also gimbaled around as necessary.
Nishimura toggled his commlink to the command channel, where the pilots of the pods and his platoon leaders congregated virtually. “Warrant, can you hear me?”
“Lima Charlie, Major.”
“Preflight complete?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tehrani spoke on the active channel. “This is Zvika Greengold actual to Major Nishimura.”
“Go ahead, ma’am,” he replied.
“Battle space is clear enough for you to launch. Your target is Master One. Capture her and as many of the crew as possible. Take no undue risks to your Marines. Do I make myself clear, Major?”
“Crystal, ma’am.” Nishimura already didn’t like using stun rounds on clearly hostile military-aged personnel engaging in active combat. That they were criminals added insult to injury. Some people just needed to be put down. The pirates fit the description, as far as he was concerned.
“Allow me to second that, Major.” A new voice cut into the discussion.
Tehrani began, “Agent Grant—”
“I felt the need to underline the capture portion of this mission. If you’re anything like me, Major, you will want to kill every last one of them. Please, don’t succumb to the impulse.”
Nishimura had heard Tehrani and Wright discussing the CIS spook. They had low opinions of him and even lower thoughts on the man’s morality in war. It offended Nishimura to be compared in such a manner. “We’re all clear on our orders, Agent.” He nearly bit his tongue off to avoid a string of oaths. I do not take orders from a civilian. “Permission to get underway, ma’am?”
“Granted, Major. Good hunting and Godspeed.”
“Godspeed to you, too, ma’am.”
The commlink clicked off. Nishimura turned to O’Connor as he strapped in next to him. “Squared away, Master Guns?”
“You know it, sir. Did you see that plasma cannon? Those CIS spooks had a few lying around.”
Nishimura’s eyes widened. Plasma cannons were Saurian weapons—overpowered and deadly weapons, at that. “I wonder where they got them from.”
“Beats me, sir. But they’re good at melting bulkheads quickly, which is why we’ve got them.” O’Connor displayed a toothy grin. “I was very specific with the kids I issued them to… not to use them on people.”
“Launching in thirty seconds,” the pilot cut in through the intercom. “Ensure your tray tables are in the upright and locked position, and please keep all appendages inside the ride until we come to a complete and total stop. Thank you for flying Marine Transport, provided by the Coalition Defense Force.”
The Marines flung out groans, boos, hisses, and a few curse words in response.
Damn CDFers, always thinking they’re our taxi service. Nishimura grumbled good-naturedly. Marines and squids had had the same litany of insults for hundreds, probably thousands of years. “Okay, boys, let’s go get ourselves some pirates!”
10
No sooner had Justin finally accelerated out of his Sabre’s uncontrolled tumble than the inbound-missile warning buzzer blared. Dammit. His eyes flicked to the HUD scanner. Heat seekers. Great. Justin sent half a dozen plasma flares into the void then reversed his course in a classic Immelmann maneuver.
“Alpha One to any friendlies. Multiple bandits on my six.”
The newly arrived pirate corvette had launched more small craft into the fray, though they were still a few minutes out.
“I’m on the way, sir,” Feldstein replied. “Any damage from the EMP? We saw you spin out of control.”
“Singed electronics. Nothing major.” A small miracle, really.
Justin tracked the two hostile fighters on his sensor screen. They’d adjusted to his course and pursued at max thrust. He applied reverse thrusters and slowed his Sabre dramatically, causing both enemies to overshoot suddenly. Without missing a beat, Justin pulled up on his flight stick and accelerated rapidly. He maneuvered up and rolled behind one of the pirate craft as it looped around to attempt a reengage.
Alpha, Mike, Foxtrot. Justin squeezed the trigger for his miniature neutron cannons, sending dozens of blue energy bolts into the void. Enough connected to weaken the aft shields of the pirate craft before it rolled away. Damn, they’re tough. Thinking on his feet, Justin toggled the stores selector to heat-seeking missiles. “Alpha One, fox two.” Two Eagles dropped into the void and accelerated as he poured on the neutron-c
annon fire.
A few moments later, Justin was rewarded with a large explosion as the hostile craft blew apart. “Alpha One, splash one.” Now, where’d the other one go?
The missile-lock-on alarm buzzed insistently. Justin’s scanner showed the enemy directly behind him. Well, at least I don’t have to go too far to reengage.
“Alpha Two to Alpha One. Break left relative, sir, and slow down. I’m lining up a guns solution.”
“Acknowledged, Alpha Two,” Justin replied. I hope to heck Feldstein has this timed right. His craft rolled away as he adjusted the heading and used the inertial damping system to kill his forward speed.
Multiple plasma balls slammed into Justin’s aft shielding before the pirate craft overshot, only to run straight into a buzzsaw of neutron-cannon fire from Feldstein’s Sabre. Added to the mix were multiple LIDAR-tracking missiles. The heavy fighter took extreme damage before its pilot ejected, and it exploded a few moments later.
“Alpha Two, splash one.”
Justin let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Feldstein.”
“Anytime, sir.”
“Beta Three declaring an emergency! Master alarm lit, ejec—”
The mayday call from the Boar pilot caused Justin to check his squadron-readiness readout. The icon representing Beta Three turned red, and the life-signs detector on its pilot flatlined. He bit his lip, knowing he had no time to grieve or even think about the loss beyond thinking it could’ve been him.
Justin gritted his teeth and cued the commlink. “Alpha, Beta, form up. We’re too spread out. Marine stealth pods are launching, and another wave of bandits is incoming. We’re going to make them pay.”
“Music to my ears, Alpha One,” Green replied. “You heard the man. Form up on Alpha One.”
Justin accelerated toward the Boars and the rest of his flight element. It was time to finish the job.
While the stealth breaching pod was not the most comfortable ride, Nishimura felt thankful to be in it. With the enhanced point-defense capabilities of the pirate corvette, the coating on the pod—the same material as on SFS-4 Ghost recon fighters—rendered them almost invisible to sensors. Perhaps if all the tactical officer had to focus on was searching for enemies, they’d be noticed amid the clutter of background radiation, but in the heat of battle, they would likely escape detection.
“One kilometer. Brace!” the warrant officer piloting the craft shouted.
“You heard him!” Nishimura thundered. “Confirm your harnesses are locked. Look alive, Marines.” He glanced to his left, where Master Gunnery Sergeant O’Conner was strapped in. “Got any words, Master Guns?”
“Only that I hope fortune smiles on us,” O’Conner replied, his slight brogue evident. It matched the flag of the Irish Republic on his left shoulder in the country position.
“Yeah, I said some prayers before getting in this tub.” Nishimura shook his head. “ I think this is the most half-assed op I’ve been on. And that’s saying something because of—”
“Stealing a fuel transport fifty light-years from Earth?” O’Conner chuckled. “Everything’s half-assed these days, Major.”
Nishimura sucked in a breath. “Another nonlethal op.” He let out a growl. “As a Marine, I find that distasteful.”
“You ever wonder what happened to that woman who helped us?”
The question was simple, but it touched on something Nishimura had been pondering of late. He bit his lip. “Yeah, Master Guns. All the time. Her name was Flores, you know.” He shook his head. “Wish we could’ve brought her back with us.”
“She made the call.”
“For us.” Nishimura narrowed his eyes. “For total strangers, because it was the right thing to do. I guess you could say I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching.”
“From a Marine? Wow.” O’Conner chuckled. “She must’ve had an effect.”
“More than anything’s ever affected me in terms of my faith, Master Guns.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the pilot. “Fifteen seconds!”
Steely resolve infected every pore of Nishimura’s body and every other Marine in the pod, he suspected. We live for this. Nishimura was actively annoyed with having to collect prisoners, as criminals who preyed on the defenseless were the lowest of the low to him. A man or woman fighting for what they believed—even if it was the antithesis of his beliefs—deserved a level of respect for having the gumption to pick up a weapon and fight. Thugs and criminals… oughta be lined up and shot.
The pod shook violently as it first slammed into then locked on to the hull of the pirate corvette. A piece of equipment that wasn’t secured correctly went flying around the interior, narrowly missing one of the Marines' armor, before it tumbled to a stop.
“Hard seal! Activating cutting beams.”
The pinnacle of Terran Coalition boarding equipment, twin short-range neutron beams were built into the breaching section. Once triggered, they sliced through any known armor and hull alloy, creating entry points wherever the Marines desired.
Nishimura ticked off eight seconds, more than enough for the weapons to do their job. “Warrant, stand by to open the hatch.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Look alive, Marines!” Nishimura pressed the quick-release button on his harness. It came off with a fluid motion, and he reached over to retrieve his battle rifle. “Okay, listen up. Our orders are to capture prisoners to determine the what, who, and why behind these pirate attacks. If your life or the life of a fellow Marine is in danger at any time, the use of lethal force is authorized. Do you get me?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” came the answer from the other twenty Marines crowded around him.
“Warrant, drop the hatch!”
A moment later, the opening to the front of the pod dropped inward, allowing access.
“Execute, execute, execute,” O’Connor called out as he charged forward.
The first Marine on the pirate vessel, he had his battle rifle at the ready. Everyone else fanned out behind him, their movements as smooth as water.
Nishimura was impressed. The lessons they’d learned on the way to and from Sol had stuck. What’s O’Connor like to say? Time to roll the iron dice. He edged into the passageway beyond. “Execute boarding plan Charlie Echo. Split into three elements,” he ordered as his HUD filled with sensor data from within the ship. “First platoon, with me.”
Over the next few minutes, they pushed farther into the vessel, finding few signs of life beyond blinking flat-panel screens and the hiss of air recyclers. Nishimura stayed a few Marines back from the front, his weapon up and his finger on the trigger guard.
A trio of enemy combatants rounded the curved corridor and immediately opened fire. One had a xaser pistol that fired a purple beam, another was armed with a simple slug-throwing rifle, and the third sported a plasma pistol. They looked every bit the definition of swashbuckling pirates, with dingy jackets, long beards, and generally unkempt appearances.
The pirates were no match at all for power-armored Marines. In a matter of seconds, all three were down, stunned on the deck plates, with no losses taken by the friendlies. Nishimura hadn’t even had time to get a shot in.
“Nice shooting, gents.” He scanned his HUD. “Twenty meters farther down this passageway then one over to the left, and we’re at the bridge.”
“Hoorah!” one of the Marines in the back yelled before the rest took up the cry.
Again and again, small groups of enemies attempted to engage haphazardly, only to be quickly cut down by TCMC firepower. As the Marines closed on a four-way junction, Nishimura held up a fist. “Send out the drone.”
A small drone, barely the size of a bumblebee, went zipping down the corridor. The platoon sergeant controlled it, and the footage it captured was shared across their tactical network.
Well, they’re not completely stupid. Nishimura’s eyes twitched as he watched the feed. Over a dozen hostiles lay in wait, some bearing heavy weapons. Screw trying to take the
se idiots alive. “Cover, Marines. Switch to lethal, AP rounds.” His voice was quiet, just loud enough to carry into the mic while minimizing the odds of the enemy overhearing.
Green lights lit up next to each platoon member in Nishimura’s HUD as the youngsters complied. The Marines’ training meant they kept a smattering of suppressive fire going as each reloaded. Such things were like muscle memory.
The moment everyone reported lethal AP loaded, a nasty grin formed on Nishimura’s face. I’m done screwing around with these bastards. “Full auto, Marines. Waste ’em all!”
As one, the platoon opened up. The roar of a dozen battle rifles spewing bullets at the rate of six hundred per second filled the air. Even through the built-in atmospheric filters of the power armor, the unmistakable smell of propellent was almost overpowering. Return fire was nonexistent, and several defenders collapsed into the passageway. The spreading pools of blood around their bodies left no doubt as to whether they were alive or dead.
Nishimura took in the scene and noted the dozens of little holes in the walls of the passageway where the AP rounds had penetrated. I guess they don’t armor the insides of their ships like the exterior. He smirked. Too bad for them.
“Bulkhead’s sealed beyond this junction, sir,” a private called through the commlink. “Should we blow it?”
“Negative. We’ll use the new toy we got from CIS. The plasma cannon. Heat it up and burn through.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hide all you want. We’re coming for you. Nishimura stared at the obstacle. I should probably switch back to stun rounds. He pondered the thought for a moment. Nah. We’ll wait till we’re outside their control center. I’m not taking any more chances with my Marines’ lives.
On the bridge of the Greengold, Tehrani surveyed the situation. So far, the CDF forces had acquitted themselves well against the pirates. It helped to be prepared and have the element of surprise on their side for once. Blue light bathed the faces of the crew, making it difficult to make out who was who.
