by James Evans
“It’s big,” muttered Warden, surprised despite his long-nurtured cynicism, “very big.” Around him, he could see that the Marines were similarly awed, all watching the pilot’s feed.
“How does it look?” Warden asked.
“Coming on nice, sir,” said Richardson. “Thrusters firing, nothing to do up here but watch. Very dull.”
“Good, let’s hope it stays that way.”
In the last five decades, there had never been a need to breach an enemy ship, certainly not while under fire. The Marines were trained for it, of course, but they didn’t have the kit. Their only option was to dock and if the alien ship took action against them, their assault would be over before it had properly started.
Warden looked around at the Marines of A Troop.
“Thirty seconds,” said Richardson. “Matching velocities.”
The thrusters fired again, more violently this time as the ship moved in towards its hanger.
“Weapons ready,” ordered Warden as they passed into the shadow of the great ship and the thrusters fired again, slowing them still further. There was a ripple of movement amongst the Marines as they checked their weapons and kit one last time.
Then the view changed as they passed into the hanger. A clang reverberated through the hull, and everyone jumped.
“Docking complete,” reported Richardson, “outer door closed, atmosphere coming in.” And gravity, which returned with a welcome thump when the ship stopped moving, pushing everyone firmly into their seats.
Warden sent a command via the HUD for everyone to don their breathers until they could check the atmosphere against human tolerances. Pre-launch, he and Milton had made sure everyone understood to keep their breathers on until they were out of the hangar, as that would be the most easily vented compartment should any of the crew realise what was going on.
“Almost there,” said Richardson, voice tense. “Ten seconds till doors open.”
The commandos unstrapped and stood, checking weapons and lining up on the exit ramps.
“Doors open in three, two, one,” said Richardson, punching the door control.
The Marines pounded down the ramps and sprinted for the exits, gathering in teams around each doorway. With the access cards retrieved from the dropship troops, they opened three doors simultaneously. Marine X and Warden’s best-trained stealth troops slipped through the doors and moved into the giant ship to begin clearing the area.
Micro-drones followed, tracking each team so the rest of the Marines could follow closely behind without giving away their presence. Richardson stayed in the dropship, locking herself in and prepping for launch in case they had to evacuate early, although nobody really expected that to be a survivable experience.
Warden looked around before he left the room, found a storage locker that Richardson could see from the cockpit and dumped a bag in it. He saw Richardson hold up a small object in her hand and nod at him through the cockpit window. Warden nodded to her. If it all went to hell, Richardson had orders to launch the dropship and press the detonator before returning planetside.
Warden went through the door, following Marine X’s team and waiting for something to give them away and sound the alarm.
12
Marine X had killed two aliens so far, taking them down before they knew he was there. Now he moved, unseen and silent, checking for movement as his team tidied up behind him and checked the rooms he’d skipped.
At the end of the corridor, his way was blocked by a bulkhead door. A quick glance through the porthole revealed an engineering bay. No sign of movement.
He opened the door and stepped inside. The room was long and closed off at the other end; this was the only entrance he could see. There was nobody around. He paced down the room slowly. He was on the port side of the vessel and heavy equipment was stacked against the exterior bulkhead. Guns, he decided; these were gun emplacements, and this was the servicing bay.
The huge room was open, but there were bulkheads between each gun that could be sealed if there was a breach. Damaged cannons could be easily accessed for repair or isolation and containment. There wasn’t likely to be anyone in here, so he picked up his pace and jogged to the other end of the bay. Better to move quickly than risk getting sealed behind bulkheads and exposed to vacuum.
But the room was clear and he walked back down the bay, reloading his weapon and updating the map for the rest of the troop as he went.
So far, the ship was symmetrical, which was hardly surprising. Most starships’ layouts were designed to be easily understood, even in pitch blackness. Areas were repeated and identical apart from markings to show where you were in the ship. The weapons bay had glyphs near the doors and on each cannon, and though he couldn’t read them, he knew they would tell the crew exactly where they were on the ship. He marked the room clear, glanced to the right where his team were catching up, then moved to the next door.
There was a thick transparent panel in the upper half of the door, and he tilted his head forward to glance through it. A barracks room with rows of sleeping compartments against the walls and in the middle of the room, four high, stretching from floor to ceiling.
Each bay was sealed with an opaque shutter. If the artificial gravity failed, which wasn’t unlikely in an emergency, waking up to find that you were falling towards the middle of the room was not helpful. Better to be safely sealed in your sleeping pod. But that meant he couldn’t see whether the compartments were occupied.
He paused for a few seconds, peering along the corridor between the pods, but no enemy personnel were visible.
Ten motioned for his team to join him and opened the door, sliding inside to check the first compartment. The translucent panel opened at his touch and revealed an empty bed. He checked two more compartments, both empty, before his team arrived and began clearing the other side of the room.
The fourth compartment was occupied, and Ten swiftly folded the pillow towards the head, jammed the barrel of his pistol into it and fired. There was a wet crunching sound, but the foam further muffled the noise of his already suppressed pistol. In a chamber like this, even a quiet weapon was loud enough to wake the enemy.
He heard a couple of dull shots behind him as the team dealt with more of the enemy. Another compartment, another swift execution, but their luck wouldn’t hold much longer.
In the next compartment, the occupant was already moving as Ten reached for the pillow. He cursed under his breath as the intended victim turned its head towards him and the eyes flicked open, widening in panic.
Ten fired but the alien was already moving. It shifted quickly, trying to sit up and twist out of the sleeping chamber. The shot went wide, thudding into the mattress. Then the alien slapped its left arm towards him, knocking the gun from Ten’s hand. The alien began to shout, loudly. Ten yanked the arm, pulling the alien close then wrapping his right arm around its neck. He tightened the hold and fell back on the floor with the alien on top of him as it kicked and struggled.
He wrapped his legs around the alien’s waist to control it and scrabbled for a knife, stabbing it into the alien’s torso while trying to keep it quiet. It took too long, far too long. The alien kicked, struggled and gurgled as it died, but Ten could already hear other compartments opening around the room.
“Don’t let them raise the alarm!” he called out as he flung the corpse away and rolled to his feet.
Ten snatched up his pistol and hurried to the open compartments, firing on instinct and without caution, trying to kill as many of the enemy as he could. He could hear the faint coughs of pistol fire around him from the rest of the team and, for a few glorious seconds, he thought they might recover the situation and stop it from becoming an absolute shit show.
Then someone found a rifle and he wasn’t friendly.
Automatic weapons fire screamed through the barracks, rounds ricocheting from the sleeping compartments.
“Fuck!” shouted one of the Marines, Ten couldn’t tell who, as they
all sought cover.
Ten holstered his pistol and sheathed his knife, unslinging the alien rifle he carried across his back. His team were doing the same as they knelt or lay behind cover. Fortunately, the sleeping chambers were pretty solid, designed to protect an occupant from decompression, and they made good cover.
The map showed that they had swept about an eighth of the ship so far, including two dropship bays.
Ten grinned, reached into a pouch, pulled out a grenade and threw it to the far end of the room.
“Flashbang,” he shouted for the benefit of his team, then, “grenade,” as he threw the second object. It wasn’t exactly sporting to disorient the enemy and then throw a fragmentation grenade but the time for fair play was long gone.
He rolled over and up into a crouch behind the compartment that was his shelter, clapping his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. The HUDs lenses would block most of the flash and he had time and cover to his advantage.
After the second explosion, Ten hefted his weapon and advanced, quickly but quietly. He knew from experience that ear-splitting sounds could still be heard by the victims of a flashbang. Well, by humans, at any rate; he had no idea how the aliens might react. Fast and quiet, then. No shouting or screaming war cries, which was about the stupidest thing you could do in a situation like this.
Instead, he moved up the room like a panther searching for prey, rapidly but smoothly and on the balls of his feet. One round to the head or a couple to the chest of any alien he thought might still be able to move, then immediately on to the next. His HUD showed the bulk of A Troop already at the door of this barracks or the one on the other side of the ship. His job wasn’t to be one hundred per cent sure about each enemy but to kill, injure or incapacitate so the Marines following could tidy up behind him.
There was a burst of fire from somewhere ahead but it wasn’t aimed at him, and he sprinted around the side of a row of sleeping bays to find one determined alien, in its underwear, desperately trying to reload its rifle.
Ten coughed politely and, as it turned towards him, put a quick burst into its face.
“Sorry, old chum, good effort, though.” A quick death was the best he could do.
There was a moment of sudden silence after the appalling noise of the grenades. No enemy movement, no shouts or shots. Ten looked around to double check then grabbed the alien’s weapon, slamming a new magazine into it before reloading his other weapons.
Warden checked his HUD; the second barracks was secure. Two Marines were down, though – Maxwell and McDonald. Just twenty-five commandos left to finish the mission.
Will it be enough? he wondered.
13
“Barlow, Cooke, Goodwin! Get the drones out, full offensive mode. I want to know what’s ahead and I want to know now,” Warden called out. Milton had her half of the Troop lined up in the barracks opposite, ready to storm the next area of the ship. There were only two exits from each barracks, the ones they had entered by at port and starboard and one facing the front of the ship. Warden had sent Goodwin back out into the corridor, to the crossroads that ran between the two barracks, along with Lance Corporal Jean Bailey and her spotter, Marine Adam Parker.
The micro-drones went first, the smallest the tech-specialists had with them. Warden cursed their lack of equipment; a more established colony would have had far more toys for them to play with.
It was the specialist pico-drones he really missed, the ones normally used for exploring and mapping enemy buildings or vessels. They were tiny, fast and hard to detect, far smaller than the micro-drones which were a multi-purpose compromise.
In the sterile environment of a ship, especially one as densely fitted-out as this one appeared to be, the micro-drone wasn’t nearly as discreet as he’d have liked. But it was still better than sticking your head around a corner and finding an enemy with a shotgun waiting for you.
The drones quickly added the next corridors, which were empty, to the floor plan. They couldn’t get through bulkheads or locked doors but they were perfect for scouting open areas. Barlow sent an update identifying two doors at port and starboard as matches to the ones in the other docking bays.
It looked like they had found their objective. Between the remains of A Troop and those all-important dropship bays, there was a series of smaller rooms, possibly officer’s quarters judging by the number of doors and size.
“Marines X, Fletcher and Harrington. Clear those rooms, quick as you can please. Techs, I want combat drones guarding those launch bay doors. Once we breach, attack the storerooms and armoury between the bays. Milton, once the cabins are clear, take the rest of your team through that dropship bay as fast as possible. Everyone else, keep your breathers handy in case of a hull breach,” Warden ordered.
Ten was done with the first cabin before Warden had finished his orders and they swept from port to starboard along the corridor. Resistance was light, only a few rounds were discharged, and no firefight broke out. It was over in less than two minutes and Warden ordered an immediate assault on the bays.
The commandos surged forward, rushing for their assigned doors, the techs and sniper teams bringing up the rear. Warden’s team stormed into the port dropship bay. Aside from markings and the dropship being clean of mud and dust, it was identical to the starboard bay. No enemies were visible, so they jogged across the hangar.
“Marine X, get that door open now, we need to flank them, Milton’s team is under heavy fire in the other dropship bay.”
Ten nodded grimly and sprinted to the door across the bay in the direction of the bow.
Warden issued orders rapidly, sending half his group through the door with Ten and the other half east into the armoury and workshop area that linked the two dropship bays. He sent the techs and the sniper teams toward the storage rooms. If the layout was symmetrical, when they reached the middle of the three storerooms, they could go north into the armoury and workshop area.
If the enemy were in there as well as the starboard dropship hangar, they would be caught between Warden’s team on their port side, the techs and sniper teams coming from the aft and Marine X’s group from the bow. They’d flip the enemy ambush on its head and turn the hunters into the hunted.
He checked Milton’s view again. It was bad. Not everyone had found cover and casualties were mounting.
Warden sprinted starboard, cursing the doors that responded only slowly to his key card.
Too slow, too slow, he thought.
He reached the middle room, bursting in behind the techs as they reached the bow door.
“Go, go, go!” he yelled as he crossed the room, pressing his card against the lock. His HUD was alive with contact markers.
Ten and his team were in a firefight in the corridor.
Milton was still pinned down. The munition and repair equipment storage areas were well-defended.
Someone went down as Warden reached the last storeroom door. Behind it
, the remnants of Milton’s team were pinned in the hanger.
Warden crouched as it opened, bringing his carbine to his shoulder and wishing he had grabbed one of the more substantial alien weapons. No time for regrets, though. He leaned just far enough to his right to sight the weapon towards the wall opposite Milton, where the enemy was taking cover. They were on the balcony at the same height as him and on the floor below, all well sheltered from the Marines’ fire. Lots of metal storage crates were clamped to the floor and the railings had safety panels to fill the gaps.
With a trio of whumpfs that sounded a lot like a fast-moving drift of snow falling off a roof, Warden launched a series of grenades at the balcony. He gave a count of one and then sighted roughly where the enemy was on the ground floor and pulled the trigger, keeping it depressed and controlling the muzzle climb as best he could while he emptied the magazine.
He ducked back into cover as he smoothly swapped the magazine, cycling through the views of his team, trying to get a better sight line of the area he’d hit. Nothing clear.
“Get me a drone in the hangar for fuck’s sake! I don’t care if it gets hit, we’re losing people,” he ordered. “We need visibility.”
He leaned around the doorway again and emptied another magazine. He sprayed indiscriminately into the cloud of smoke and dust from the grenades, then took cover again. He wasn’t likely to inflict any damage, but it should keep the enemy’s heads down.
Finally, a drone made it into the hangar, hugging the ceiling as it scanned the huge bay. Ghostly red imagery overlaid his own view and now Warden knew where the enemy were. There was movement in the cloud, so at least one enemy was still active. He reloaded his carbine with grenades and a fresh magazine, slung it across his back and pulled out his pistol, suppressor already attached.
He threw two more grenades and sent a silent message to Milton’s team.
Then he ran through the doorway and along the balcony, directly at the aliens and into the smoke. He skidded to his knees as the first infra-red blob loomed out of the smoke before him. The greyness shifted and the kneeling alien seemed to coalesce out of the fog. It turned towards him, a look of horror on its face, as Warden’s suppressor touched its forehead.