The temptation proved too much and he tickled the afterburner to rocket into the massive chamber. “Explosions, be cutting loose,” he called and unleashed a flurry of plaser rounds into a rack of missiles on the elevator ahead of him.
The missiles cooked off, some detonating, others rocketing across the deck. The explosions of the remaining warheads trashed the elevator as the rest of the team joined in the destructive fun. Trevis could tell they were reveling in it as he angled towards a hatchway into the ship, medics wheeling an injured pilot back inside. He stayed his finger and instead fired into a nearby refueling station. From the corner of his eye, he caught Porc’s fighter, sitting on its tail. The energy intensive sensor mask dropped; he peppered the mostly empty fighter racks in the ceiling.
Rounds from a small arms plaser ricocheted off Trevis’s shields. Security Forces had arrived, their weapons ineffectual against the shielded fighters. “Be dropping cloak,” Trevis ordered as Dibtel twisted her fighter about to vaporize the security forces. She added several rounds from the metal-eating biocannons to the area around the hatch they’d emerged through. The passageway beyond decompressed, and a short, violent burst of debris flowed into the hangar. Dibtel continued to target the hatchways, skidding just metra above the hangar deck like an ice skater.
Trevis edged his fighter in close to one of the open elevators to the armory below. “Telsh, be prepping Sharks for low speed launch into that armory.”
“I already be ahead of you,” she replied in her sultriest voice before unleashing the pair of torpedoes.
The twin guided weapons ejected from their launch tubes slower than Trevis had ever seen. Telsh took control of them, and glided them along the empty deck, over the lip and finally down the shaft to the armory a few decks below. “Damn, they be shooting at them,” Telsh muttered, pushing the weapons down the shaft faster. “All Units, be prepping for burst!”.
Everyone responded the same way, jumping their fighters up and away from the deck. Lindel nearly collided with an overhead fighter rack before her dorsal thrusters could save them.
The deck blistered and then burst open, a geyser of liquid fire crashing into the ceiling. The explosion of the twin Sharks had been more effective than Trevis could have imagined. Not only did the initial blast destroy everything within 50 metra of each warhead, the radiation spike had cooked off numerous torpedoes within. A firestorm raged through the decks below the main hangar. Trevis just smiled at the raw destructive awesomeness.
“Two, Twelve,” Ribtin called. “We be having company. Heavy forces be moving in.”
Telsh highlighted the armored troopers with their rocket launchers and anti-fighter artillery as they raced in to set them up. “All Units, Two. Party be over, but don’t be forgetting to be leaving presents,” he ordered and spun his fighter about to face the massive opening the destruction of the Powell had rendered. He gunned the throttle and raced out of the ravaged hangar as the rest of the team dropped off their own Sharks. They’d skirt the Barker’s hull, well within its shields, engaging key points across the ship.
Trevis couldn’t stop grinning as his team joined him in the nebula, their torpedoes striking at turrets and sensor mounts all across the Barker. “Explosions, be returning to base. We be needing more ordinance,” he called to the hoots and hollers of his teammates.
“Trevis, if you haven’t already, you best be putting babies in me once this be over,” Telsh ordered from the backseat.
Bridge, GFS Barker
“What just happened?” Admiral Kimmet called out over the din of new alerts coming in from all across the ship.
“Ma’am,” the tactical officer replied, climbing back into his seat. “Reports are uncertain. We have multiple magazine breaches and reports of Splicer-5000s in the main hangar.”
The ship’s security officer ran up. “Ma’am, confirmed, we had infiltrators. My men chased them off. However, it wasn’t before…”
“We’ve lost five of our weapons magazines,” the tactical officer called.
“Did we kill any of them?” Kimmet demanded.
“No ma’am,” the security officer reported.
“Damage Control, Status?!”
“Contained, ma’am,” the young officer called from her station. “There were only a few torpedoes in those magazines being moved up for arming. The internal bulkheads contained the rest of the damage.”
Kimmet turned on the flight controller. “Explain!”
Shaking, the man replied. “Ma’am, they had sensor masks.”
“No excuses!” Kimmet roared and turned back to the tactical display, then calmed her breathing. “Triple check any further attempts to land. If they get a single one wrong, blast them out of space. Tactical, do we have those sensor readings from the DePaul?”
“We do ma’am. I have selected the three best targets.”
“Good, give them to all three barrels.”
The lights of the bridge dimmed for a moment as all three Razer cannons fired. The power grid was never designed to fire all three at once, even in low-powered mode. Admiral Kimmet smiled, in less than fifteen minutes she would have her answer, and Sardenon would never see it coming.
Bridge, UCSBS-Wolfsbane
“What in the seventh layer of Sheol was that?” Captain Sardenon called as he climbed back into his command chair. He hadn’t felt the Wolfsbane buck that badly since they’d caught the blast wave of that Tre-Tian star bomb in Beshtrig.
“Low yield Razer cannon discharge less than a Kimet below us,” Officer Slaik called from the sensor station.
“That Birmingham that killed the Buckler must be feeding the Satan our position,” Sia sneered, directed a returning strike package at them.
“Damage Report,” the Captain called and looked to his tactical display, the three-hulled cruiser just sitting out there. “And send our friend a present. Something high-yield on a slipstream.”
Commander Salgou, grunted from the jump seat he slumped into, his leg hanging at an odd angle. “Ventral shields are breached. The central bank of projectors are offline, Engineering is chasing it down. We have numerous breaches. All contained by bulkheads. But the dropship hangar has buckled further around the breach from the earlier assault,” he reported through gritted teeth. “We’ve also lost half a dozen turrets, and the rest of the ventral grid has control issues across the board. But the power cores are stable.”
“Understood,” Sardenon replied and tapped the emergency medical key on his armrest. “I want damage control parties on the power grid and shields. Contact the Venerous, we’re going to need extra coverage down there. Margoy, Olza spin up the slipstream drive and get us out of here.”
“Sir,” Lim called from the flight control station, her face drained of all color, even through her fur. “Sir, the lifeboats from the Vamair. They were on docking approach when the blast hit. We’ve lost half of them.”
Captain Sardenon folded his hands over his mouth and nose in thought and prayer. Only a few dozen of the Vamair’s crew now survived. He’d received the report only a few pulses ago that a Valkyrie bomber had stumbled on the crippled ship and had unleashed a massive torpedo strike on it. Only scattered pieces remained, and in this nebula that spelled certain doom for anyone still trapped inside.
“Fine. That’s the way they want to play it,” Captain Sardenon said to the deck. “They kicked a wolf and they’re about to find out why that’s a bad idea.” With a purpose that he knew would inspire anyone looking his way, Captain Sardenon, ignoring his pain, strode onto the overlook and activated his command link to the bomber wing. “Wolf Pack, Griffclaws, this is the Wolf’s Den. Wipe those cruisers covering the Satan out of my space. Nip Tails, Night Creepers, Dancing Skulls, Demon Hunters, why are those destroyers still harassing our ships?” Without waiting for a response, he switched over to the ship to ship channel. “Destroyers, I still see hostile frigates in my space, change that.” He changed the channel again to the fighter wings. “All Fighters, Wolfsbane Actual
. Cover your assigned bombers and ships. Let no single Geffer around sully their shields.” Another frequency change, this one to the battle-weary frigates, corvettes and cruisers, Var-Fowne especially. “Wolfsbane Actual to Var-Fowne Actual. We’ve asked a lot from you. Now it’s our turn. Take care of my frigates and corvettes, but I still have need of your Stingrays. Get my ships back home safe and I promise the same of yours.”
Space outside the SIS twisted as the Wolfsbane slipstreamed away towards its secondary safehold, the crew in the lower level relaying orders. Now was not a time for weakness, he knew. But he and his ship were hurt, and even as chewed up as the Barker was, he doubted they could take them in a straight fight. Were it up to him, were his ship whole, he’d run straight in, beams, cannons, and torpedoes blazing to decapitate the monster. An idea struck him and he turned around to face the upper bridge. “We tear out their hearts.”
“Sir?” Commander Salgou asked as a medic took a knee before him.
“Commander. How much damage did the Explosions do to the Satan?”
“Sir, they completely trashed the hangar and if the telemetry is right, they took out all the main fighter magazines as well as most of the Barker’s dorsal turrets.”
A schematic view of the Barker shot up on the holo table and Captain Sardenon highlighted the damaged areas. He looked it over, crunching numbers in his head as a feral grin twisted his lips. “It might just work,” he commented before one of the SIS walls changed over to a gun-camera view.
Captain Sardenon turned to look. He watched intently as a Corsicaa and Brekhov, each one arranged to cover the other’s blind spots, went up. Splicer 3000s, with the Nip Tails’ unmistakable markings skidding along between and around the two cruisers, tore them to shreds. Each new hit erupted a geyser of plasma from the damage within.
Eyes narrowed and fixed back on his prey, Captain Sardenon sat and paged the marine barracks “Commandant Dane, remember that hypothetical we’ve been tossing around the last annura or so? The one your marines took a dry run on with the Inferno?”
“Yeah, sure do,” he drawled back.
“It’s not hypothetical anymore, mount up,” he ordered then turned back to the helm. “Set your course for the Satan,” he ordered turning forwards. “It’s time to get dirty.”
Marine Barracks 1, UCSBS-Wolfsbane
Ask any shipboard marine what the worst parts of any space battle are and they’ll all give the same answer: the wait, and the hope to not be called upon. In ship to ship engagements, the marines were tasked with damage control, repelling boarding actions, or to replace killed crewers with whom they might share similar skills. Commandant Dane knew that feeling well and as he marched into the Barracks in his ACHES, he could all but taste it.
The marines sprang to attention as he strode in, mixtures of fear and excitement on their faces as they saw his garb. He just stood inside the hatchway and looked them over. “We’ve been called upon!”
The marines looked at each other.
“As we speak, the Wolfsbane is preparing to move it and deliver us upon the devil himself.” Murmurs erupted. “Oh yes. We are the Confederation’s Malicious Children and on this cycle, we are being called to do the impossible. We will escort armored forces, tanks and marauders through the veins of the King of Sheol to rip out his beating hearts, with our teeth if we have to. I don’t know about you, but I find that a mighty fine way to greet the creator. Are you with me!?”
“Sir, yes sir!” the marines replied.
“Good on you. Now suit up and get to the armored deck. Anyone not there in ten pulses better know how to swim in vacuum!”
Monstero Nach 003
“I’m not seeing this,” Blazer commented at the sight before him. It was not the maintenance crews in their ACHES-derived vacuum suits as they worked feverishly to repair the damage to the Wolfsbane while it sped along in the slipstream. That had become all too common of late. No, it was the tugs pulling marine tanks, and Marauder mechs out of the decimated dropship bay and into formation with a quartet of light dropships and two Ferines, the last dropships still aboard the Wolfsbane.
After their latest disastrous attempt to escort the Vamair’s lifepods to the Wolfsbane had ended in tragedy, he felt surprised that the Captain would choose them to carry out this mission. He knew that the loss of the craft were not his fault. It was only dumb luck that they’d been ordered to land in order to rearm and refuel that had saved his team from obliteration. Given their track record of late, the command staff had to have their doubts in them. Perhaps that was why they had also assigned Terra Squad to this mission.
“This is an insane plan,” Blazer muttered.
“More insane than sending a team of marines on a suicide mission to kill Gondral?” Arion asked.
“Second to that,” Blazer replied.
Tadeh Qudas’ weakened voice broke over the link. “Monstero Nach, All Units, Lead. The Wolfsbane will make a single, high-speed pass of the Barker to draw away its fire, crossing from port to starboard. That is when we will deploy the marines. You must cover them while the Wolfsbane draws their fire.”
Blazer could hear the fatigue in his Commander’s voice, the sound so alien to him it shook him to the core. “Nach 003 copies. We show all marine forces in position and ready.”
“Good, stand by. The Wolfsbane will drop you shortly.”
There were few things Blazer found less comforting than a slipstream drop. A standard slipstream deceleration was a smooth affair and hardly noticed beyond the change in the sky. A drop was violent, kicking the fighter out of a larger ships’s cocoon of dark energy into its own in such a way that it could be left behind, usually at combat speeds. It played Sheol on the senses and if done incorrectly could kill the crew if not shatter the fighter entirely.
“Dropping in ten, eight, five, dropping.”
Blazer jerked into his harness, his vision graying as the Wolfsbane burst ahead, leaving them in its wake. He shook his head to regain his senses and looked about. They’d all made it, their formation skewed, but they’d all survived. He breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude to the WSOs and grappler operator on the Wolfsbane and prepared to set out.
The Barker loomed before them on their sensors, trading fire with the Wolfsbane as it sped past, and came to rest a few hundred kimets away. Blazer waited and watched as the craft covering the Barker’s port flank broke formation to engage the Wolfsbane. That was their signal to go.
“Arion, what did they leave behind?” Blazer asked as he pushed the throttle open to take point along with the rest of the squadron, the Explosions back with them.
“Stand by, we’re filtering the interference out. Got it. They’re the bait. All they’ve got left for cover is a corvette, make it to be a Raatler Two, and six fighters, mix of Solaars and Wildcats.”
“Understood,” Blazer replied and keyed his link. This close to the enemy and with the heavy exchange between them and the Wolfsbane, there was little chance for Tadeh Qudas to contact, let alone command them, so Blazer took over. “All Units, Three, my flight, on me. Everyone else make sure no one else sneaks up on the marines. Four, Six, let’s meet the neighbors.”
Blazer broke away from the rest of the procession, Gavit and Zanreb following and taking up a standard attack formation. With Blazer in the lead, Arion locked their torpedoes onto the corvette using passive sensors as Gavit and Zanreb took the high and low cover positions.
They broke through the clouds at full thrust, burning trails behind them to catch sight of their prey. The corvette sat there, scorch marks covering its hull as atmosphere bled from the main saucer at several points, the engines sputtering to bring it about. Blazer could almost feel sympathy for the brave crew, before they opened fire on the trio. Blasts from multiple turrets splattered across their shields before the corvette unleashed a pair of missiles at them. “Watch the covering fire,” Blazer groaned and dropped down below the firing arc as Arion launched their twin torpedoes.
Blazer broke aw
ay only a cent before the volume of space he would have been in found itself filled with plaser rounds. Blazer weaved away from the attacking fighters as Arion guided the torpedoes on. Only three hundred metra from the corvette a fan of crimson plasma cut across the torpedoes obliterating them. Blazer could hardly believe his eyes. The intel briefings had mentioned nothing about the new class of Raatler having beam turrets. “Bugger,” Arion cried. “Confirmed, the Raatler’s got beams. Two of them. On the outriggers. Attack from the rear.”
“Four, commence your run. Six, keep cover. I’m after these guys that came after us,” Blazer called and twisted his fighter about bringing the first Solaar into view. He squeezed his trigger, the plaser cannons over his shoulders chattering away in response. The plasma rounds wracked the back of the fighter before it could flip around to engage him. Locking diamonds snapping into place, Blazer mashed the missile button. Their fighter kicked up to the left as the missile punched out of its magazine and rocketed away. At such a close range, the Solaar never had a chance. Its shields, already depleted, allowed the missile to slip past the cockpit like they weren’t even there before it exploded. The line of blast plasma radiated out, slicing neatly through the interceptor’s midsection, ripping through and into the armored fuel cells and reactor. The resulting explosion proved bright enough to make Blazer look away.
That moment of distraction nearly cost Blazer and Arion their lives. Blazer’s shield crackled with energy as a diving Wildcat attacked, all six of its wingroot-mounted plaser cannons spitting death their way. Blazer angled away, punching his afterburner before a hail of depleted uranium flechettes from the attacker’s thrasher cannons stripped away what remained of his shields. A few of the deadly spikes drove their way home into their armor.
Without even looking for an escape route, Blazer fell back on instinct. He pushed down on the throttle, dropping the fighter as he pulled it back far enough to engage the reverse thrusters and kicked his right rudder, hard. The enemy fighter was barely a streak as it raced past. Panting, Blazer heard the familiar sound of the Narfic cannon servos. Arion would get his payback for his lost Sharks. The snap of the capacitors discharging filled the cockpit as Arion opened fire with both the cannons and launched a missile.
Hell's Razer Page 51
