by L S Roebuck
In this resolve, she thought she was more like Kimberly than not, and it scared her. Both were willing to do whatever it took to get what they wanted. For Kimberly, it was a grand revolution that would reshape the human experience. For Amberly, she just wanted to go to her home — Magellan.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Twig was an excellent pilot, and had little trouble maneuvering the Clair De Lune in the tight confines of the hangar. The thrusters were firing at minimum strength to give the corvette just a little lift off the deck. Twig's delicate touch on the yoke caused the ship to gracefully rotate 180 degrees, from pointing toward the space doors to pointing toward an opening in the hangar, wreathed with twisted metal, carbon scoring and jagged, cracked plexiglass.
North had the idea to use a corvette’s 50-mm chain guns as a defensive turret should Johnson muster up a force and try to make a run at getting access to the American Spirit again. The corvette could not get a clear shot down the corridor, but anyone attempting to charge the hangar from within the Waypoint would be mowed down with a spray of bullets.
Twig peered out of the cockpit window as he slowly lowered the Clair De Lune into position. When he was a few centimeters off the floor, he killed the thruster power, and the artificial gravity pulled the corvette to the floor with a clanking thud.
The Marines had the Magellan hangar set up as a forward operating base. North’s vital orders from Acting Commander Moreno: Keep the Chasm forces from gaining access to the American Spirit.
Near the portal that led to the command center, Kora and some of the Marine support staff carefully placed the deceased Captain Kim, Private Snyder, Topez and the traitor Amir into body bags. Kora’s dress was stained with the blood of the injured and dead she had tended since the fighting had broken out. She was tired and wanted to sleep, but knew that her nursing skills were needed now more than ever. She finished sealing Snyder’s body bag, stood up and walked over to the center of the hangar, where North, Leo and Marco were looking at a large infopad that displayed a two dimensional floorplan of the Magellan hangar and surrounding compartments.
“Leo takes up position here, and he should be able to keep a clean sight nearly down to the tube station. He should be able to give us some advance warning if the Chasm troops decide to make another run at the hangar,” North said.
Kora pushed into the circle of Marines. “North,” she said, looking up at her friend, “Do you have any news on Amberly?”
North dismissed Leo and Marco to their positions. “Resupply your ammo and get to your points and report in every five minutes.” The pair headed toward the main entrance, stopping to pillage a supply crate about halfway to the portal.
North turned back to Kora. Her eyes were dark, sleepless circles. Her bare forearms were caked with dried blood. Her cheeks were dirty, and her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail that was becoming formless.
North realized he must not look any better than Kora. He was bloodied twice: his ear, grazed by a bullet, and his elbow, which had an entry and exit wound. The medi-foam Moreno had applied back in the Marine conference room had done its work, killing bacteria, stopping the bleeding, and deadening his blazing nerves. In the observation room off of the central command, Kora had put a brace on it to limit North’s left arm movement. He had already been ignoring the pain, and Kora feared that he would permanently damage his arm. North protested, but ultimately gave in. The brace kept his elbow bent at about a 15-degree angle, though North still had full mobility of his arm at the socket.
North was a strong man, and he was still able to wield his assault rifle with only his right arm. His accuracy was diminished, but once the brace was on, he practiced using the left arm to help him stabilize the weapon by extending the arm and laying the gun on top of it.
Physically spent, Kora leaned into the sturdy North, pushing her raven-haired head against his chest. North wrapped his good arm around her and hugged her. The strong arm around her called out a mix of feelings in her, probably, she thought amplified by the traumatic events taking place. But although she always loved North, she knew she could never be with him. For one, he was too much of a brother. And two, she knew that his heart was for Amberly. And Kora hoped that someday Amberly would come to see the great man North was.
Amberly is too much like mom, Kora thought. That’s why she’ll never be with North, either. Too bad for the Macready sisters. If she is still alive, that is.
The last thought caused her to shudder, and she took a half-step back from North and looked up into his dark eyes.
“Is there any hope for Amberly?” she asked.
North took Kora’s hand with his good arm.
“Of course there is,” North said. “We know the Firebird has returned to Magellan, so as soon as we get this situation under control and this Chasm uprising snuffed out, we’ll get this hangar repaired or send out a rescue ship or something.”
“What if Dek killed her?”
“Do you really think Dek is the killing type?” North said.
“You're right,” Kora said, her face brightening with hope. “He doesn’t seem like a killer. I think that he really likes Amberly a lot.”
As soon as the words escaped her mouth, Kora wished she hadn't said that last sentence. North winced at the thought that not only was Amberly trapped on the Firebird with this traitor, Dek, but that Dek may like her and Amberly may like him as well. A slow, jealous anger burned in North’s stomach. He was slightly ashamed at the well of emotions over Amberly. He had no claim on her; she wasn’t his property. North knew deep down that Amberly would never be anybody’s property. But if the desire to own, and be owned, by a mate was encoded in the fabric of both the male and the female of the human species, North knew he was not immune.
“I need to report to Moreno. We’re planning some sorties to see if we can flush out the Chasm troops.” North gave Kora a reassuring side-hug with his good arm. “The minute I know anything about Amberly, I’ll comm you.”
A bullet whizzed by North’s good ear.
“Incoming bogies,” Leo shouted.
“Get back to the command center, now!” North ordered Kora. “Take Skip and the civilians with you.”
North hoisted his rifle and sprinted the 10 meters to the makeshift barricade where Leo and Marco had taken up positions.
“There are at least 30,” Marco said, looking with binoculars down the corridor through a gap in the barrier. “Make that 50. Many of them are unarmed.”
North signaled to Twig. “Time to saddle up.” North indicated the Clair De Lune with a wave of his bad arm. Twig just nodded in reply, keyed open the corvette’s portal and then slipped into the cockpit. He spun up the machine guns, but held his fire.
Wong had joined North as part of the squad defending the hangar, along with Tricia Moreville. “If they keep coming, they’ll be slaughtered. They’ll be fish in barrel advancing up that hallway.”
“Tricia, if we let them get to the American Spirit, we may all be dead,” North said. “Leo, fetch me the bullhorn.”
More fire came from down the hallway. Leo's survival instinct kicked in, and he hit the floor. There was no way for the advancing Chasm troops to get a clear shot, but bullets were ricocheting everywhere. Leo crouched and made his way to the emergency supply closet at the far end of the hangar.
“Leo, Marcos, fire some warning shots,” North ordered.
The pair swung their assault rifles over the top of the barrier and let out a few rounds of bullets. Tricia peeked out of the peephole.
“Still coming,” she announced, as Leo and Marcos withdrew their rifles and reloaded. A flurry of pings and bangs bounced off the barriers, causing several of the Marines to jump. “And they are returning fire,” Tricia stated the obvious.
Leo handed North the bullhorn, and North wasted no time in turning it on and using it. His baritone voice, amplified by the battery-powered speaker, rung down the hallway.
“This is Lt. Commander North of the Waypoint Mag
ellan Marines,” he said firmly. “Stand down. If you continue on your present course, we will be forced to shoot. Even now, we have a corvette’s chain guns trained on your approach. If you step in range, we will shoot.” When he had finished speaking, North indicated for his troops to hold their fire.
North strained his hearing, in the hopes that these people would come to their senses and declare that they were surrendering. The silence went on for several uncomfortable moments, and then North heard a swishing sound followed by a metallic clink on the outside of the barrier wall.
“Grenade,” North shouted, assuming the Chasm troops had used some sort of rocket propelled ordinance to move the grenade’s blast radius to include the barrier.
“The barrier will hold,” Leo managed to quickly shout as they all hit the ground. North winced. Three seconds came and went, and no blast.
“Is it a dud?” North shouted. His comm rang, and it was Twig, whose vantage from the elevated Clair De Lune cockpit gave him a line of sight over the barrier.
“Smoke bomb. It’s a smoke bomb.”
North looked up and began to see a think plume of gray smoke pouring over the wall. The cloud was expanding rapidly
“They are going to charge us in the cover of smoke!” Marcos shouted. The smoke had already started to cloud the interior of the hangar. Visibility had quickly reduced to 50 percent and North choked a bit on the clouds.
Twig was on the comm with North again. “Do you want me to shoot some rounds into the smoke?”
Before Twig had finished his question, North heard an audible command from Lt. Johnson, who must have only been 20 meters or less on the other side of the barrier. “All units, attack!” Johnson shouted.
A massive volley of bullets and even improvised tossed projectiles, mostly steak knives, came flying into and over the barrier. Hot metal splintered creating deadly shrapnel.
“Aughh…” Leo shouted out. He had taken a knife to the head, and blood was gushing out of a laceration a half-dozen centimeters long on his forehead.
Marco returned fire into the smoke, but could not see if was hitting anything.
“Twig,” North shouted into his comm and looked up into the cockpit of the corvette positioned just ten meters away from him, “Do you have an infrared scan?”
Twig’s voice was excited, “There are at least 10 people meters from your position and closing fast.”
“In five seconds, let your guns free and don’t stop until you hear from me or you run out of ammo. Mark.”
Twig started to count out loud. “Five, and four, and three…”
Now it was North’s turn to shout through the smoke. “Hit the deck, hit the deck, hit the deck!”
Marcos, Leo, Tricia, Wong and North all flattened as close to the floor as they could.
“Two and one…” The guns started consuming bullets from the chain feed, quickly ripping through the makeshift barrier as if it were just aluminum foil. The air was filled with the copper-plated bullets, singing a high pitch as they traveled in less than a second to meet their targets of metal, plastic and flesh.
Some small arms fire was returned by the advancing Chasm troops directed at the well-armored bow of the Clair De Lune. The ballistic attack left a few dimples and dents, and even cracked the viewport, but otherwise left the corvette unharmed. The corvettes were designed to take impacts in the front from space debris and other objects that could collide with the ship as it zoomed forward through space, and the assault rifles could do little real damage with a frontal assault.
How is this happening? North’s heart burned in his chest as he imagined what was happening to the Chasm troops. He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear the screams of profanity and raw pain, which he assumed came from Lt. Johnson’s cannon fodder being torn to shreds. The hangar smelled acrid, and North inhaled the unidentifiable fumes from the smoke bomb and the sickly odor of fresh blood. North realized he felt the blood, too, as the splatter from ruptured human bodies settled on North’s hair and face, arms and back.
“North!” Twig shouted from the cockpit. “The American Spirit! I’ve got hundreds of heat signatures coming in behind us. I’ll see if I can spin around…”
North flipped on his belly to face behind him, toward the gangway portal which led out to the American Spirit. Johnson was just leading a distraction, North realized. A costly one, no doubt, but if these people coming across from the gangway were armed, North knew his half-dozen troops would not be able to hold the hangar.
“North to Moreno: Things have gone from bad to worse. We’ve got a hundred or so inbound bogies from the American Spirit. We’re going to need all the backup you have and that’s probably not going to be enough. We’re attempting to…”
The portal door to the gangway swung open and the bullets from at least five assault rifles sprayed out into the hangar. Because North’s squad was already on the ground, the initial volley missed. North could see the whole 40 meter-long gangway filled with armed people, four to five abreast, moving forward, with the front line firing liberally.
Rita Moreno’s calm voice came over North’s comm. “Understood. We’re taking appropriate steps. We see them on our thermal scans as well. Stay alive as long as you can. Hold the approaching forces back if you can. Moreno out.”
North knew that Moreno would do everything she could, but he couldn’t help but feel abandoned at that moment.
North looked over at Leo while he took aim. “This could be it. God have mercy on our souls.”
Leo looked white. “If you shoot a hole in that gangway, we could all suffocate.”
Bullets now buzzed from behind and in front of North. Caught in the crossfire, North thought. How embarrassing to let Johnson get the better of me.
“I know, but if it looks like we are going down, I say let’s take the lot of them with us,” North said to Leo.
On the Clair De Lune, Twig had powered up the thrusters, to maneuver the guns to face the horde boarding from the American Spirit. The powerful thrust cleared the smoky air around the corvette toward the walls of the hangar. This drew the attention of Capt. Järvinen, who was directing the assault about five rows back from the front line. Järvinen knew if the corvette could bring its guns to bear on the gangway, he and his assault were doomed.
“Take out that corvette!” he shouted, as the first line of his troops cleared the gangway into the hangar. North expertly sniped two Chasm troops in that first line, careful to not miss and puncture the gangway.
The three men still standing seemed to North to likely be conscripted civilians, based on their poor physical appearance and general lack of confidence. They opened fire on the exposed stern of the Clair De Lune, which was not as well armored as the bow. Behind them a petite, exceptionally fit woman, obviously trained military, took a knee and produced at grenade launcher.
The small arms fire had already damaged the corvette’s rear; burning fuselage from the rear engine housing starting to add to the smoky hangar air. The assault line was held up as the grenadier took aim. North took a shot at her, but missed. Instead, he hit the frame of the gangway junction, made of reinforced steel. No damage.
North shouted over his comm. “Twig! Incoming grenade!”
But there was nothing Twig could do about it. In the hangar, he had no room to maneuver. He started his 180 spin.
Too late. The RPG expertly hit its target, and the explosion sent the corvette smashing back to the deck. The stern erupted with explosive flames.
“Get out of there, Twig” North screamed, “Flames are about to hit the oxygen tank, you have maybe 10 seconds.”
Twig knew he couldn’t get out of the cockpit, down the short interior corridor and out the side portal in time. Or at, least, it would be close.
“I’m pulling the eject,” Twig said.
“In the hangar!” North said. “Are you crazy?”
Twig reached for the red eject lever. It was completely manual, in case of electric systems failure. The lever pulled
a space worthy nano-polymer dome around the pilot’s seat. When ejected in space, this makeshift escape pod could provide life support for 30 minutes to an hour. Two explosive bolts blew the canopy-like viewport and the domed-chair was projected clear of the corvette. Simultaneously as the chair cleared the Clair De Lune, the spacecraft became completely engulfed in flames.
The pod, with Twig inside immediately smashed into the hangar’s ceiling, crushing and cracking the dome, before the pod bounced down back into the flaming corvette. Fortunately for Twig, the pod had enough momentum to roll clear of the burning ship.
For a moment, everyone in the hangar was transfixed by the exploding ship. The nasty smoke coming off the burning corpse of the Clair De Lune nearly eliminated all visibility. North could hear Järvinen shouting orders for his troops to advance into the flaming hangar.
“Find those Marines and execute them quickly,” Järvinen bellowed. North had estimated by this point, if they had followed their captain’s commands, at least 30 could already be out of the gangway and safely in the hangar.
The fire suppression systems kicked on, spraying a heavy foam that quickly extinguished the hot blaze in the center of the partially molten Clair De Lune. The foam also cleared the air as it fell from valves above and was sprayed from jets on the floor.
“That took way too long,” Leo said dryly.
North had huddled between two crates, trying to avoid being in the line of fire from either the exterior hallway or the gangway advances. He motioned for Leo to join him. Leo sprinted from his cover and slipped in the foam retardant, scrambling on his belly to the gap where North hid. Leo narrowly avoided about a half dozen shots that zipped by.
“Moreno, if you have anything, now would be a good time,” North said into his comm.
Moreno’s calm voice came back over North’s comm. “We’re working on something. Please stand by.”