Gott Mit Uns (Terran Strike Marines Book 5)

by Richard Fox

  “We have to put it in level. Is it going to come out level?” Garrison asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Neilson said.

  Garrison and Max manhandled the round into the magazine, grunting and cursing. It was immediately evident the round wouldn’t fit.

  “If you’d listened to me,” Neilson said, “I could have pulled this lever and rotated the slug into the breach. But you did it wrong. Pull it out and set it down. Follow the loading indicators. Level, carefully line it up with the magazine guides. Anything else is a failure. If we were in the middle of a battle right now, you’d have gotten half the crew killed.”

  “He said to pull out,” Garrison muttered, head turned away from the Petty Officer.

  Max giggled.

  “We’re getting a fire request. Ibarran cruiser in support. This is the real thing, Marines.”

  Garrison and Max set to work with renewed determination.

  Hoffman monitored alerts and requests on the command net and decided his time would be best spent clearing the rest of the ship. Several of the crew chiefs and officers who were trying to do difficult jobs needed personnel. He could round up crews and get them where they needed to go, and also make sure no Ibarrans were left on the ship.

  “Petty Chief Nielsen, I’m leaving these two with you. I’ll need them back if we get boarded,” Hoffman said.

  Neilson saluted. “Understood, sir. It’s an honor to meet you and the rest of Valdar’s Hammer.”

  Hoffman returned the salute and left.

  Chapter 24

  Adams exhaled slowly, bracing herself for the next effort. She didn’t have much room to work. The inside of the locker was dark and felt as if it were shrinking. She couldn’t imagine what armor went through in their amniosis-filled wombs.

  Pressing her back into the corner of the locker, she wedged her knee up to her chest and then attempted to extend her leg for the fifth time. Pain shot through her hip and lower back. She cried out in agony but continued to drive her heel into the door.

  When she had enough leverage, she was able to pull her other leg up and add it to the effort as she jammed her elbows into the sides of the confined space. If she quit now, she would fall to the bottom of the locker and be hopelessly stuck in a ball of misery.

  “For the Lady!” she screamed.

  The door to the locker flew open. She fell and landed on her side, the twisted lip of the locker jabbing her under her rib cage. She crawled out and lay sprawled on the deck for almost a minute without trying to move.

  “If I ever find you, Dottie, we’re going to have words,” she muttered.

  Staggering to her feet, she made her way to the wall, leaning against it as she made her way to the engine room. There was a contingency for everything. If the Terran Union recaptured the Breitenfeld, she’d make sure they didn’t get far.

  It wasn’t difficult to find the splice that the Dotari Marine had set up. Someone wanted to jumpstart the Breit or control her remotely. She wasn’t sure which and didn’t care. All that she knew was that she could break it and ruin their plans.

  “They should have killed me if they wanted this to work,” she said, then yanked a fistful of wires away from the splice.

  ****

  Duke winced when the alert chimed in his helmet. “What now?”

  “There’s a problem in the engine room. Need someone to check it out,” a deck chief said.

  Duke looked across the deck, watching Gor’al dutifully assisting the short-staffed Scipio crew. Hoffman and the rest of the team were still en route. “Gor’al, we’ve got to do something.”

  “Yes, one moment,” the Dotari Marine responded, then made several apologies to the leader of the Scipio deck team.

  “We’ll check it out. Make sure to send up a follow-up element if you get one. If we don’t check back in twenty minutes, call the Marines,” Duke said.

  “Very funny. Must be sniper humor,” the chief said.

  “Gor’al. Move your ass. Time to earn your pay,” Duke shouted.

  “Yes! I am coming! Why so serious?”

  Duke pushed the pace. He knew that much of the ship hadn’t been searched and was unsecured, but he was moving through sections he had cleared at least once when taking out the flight-deck guards and securing the armory. Could more of the persistently difficult Ibarrans have infiltrated these areas while he was otherwise occupied?

  “There are two entrances to the engine room,” Gor’al said.

  Duke nodded. “Let’s split up and cover them both. Stay at your entrance and I’ll call you in when I need you. That way, we don’t have any friendly fire incidents.”

  “I still do not understand why you call it ‘friendly fire,’” Gor’al said.

  “Pay attention, Gor. If there’s a saboteur in the interim, I don’t want him getting past your position. When I call you, we can close the vise on whoever it is,” Duke said.

  “I believe it is very much a good idea to be wary of saboteurs, especially after my unpleasant confrontation with the redheaded woman,” Gor’al said.

  “Damn, I forgot about the redhead. Where’d you put her?” Duke asked.

  “A closet?” Gor’al said without much confidence. “No, a locker! Yes, that is exactly where she is.”

  “Which locker? There are like five thousand on this ship.”

  “Well, you don’t have to imply negative things about my intelligence with your tone,” Gor’al said.

  “Was she hot?” Duke asked. “Redheads are trouble, but don’t get me wrong—I’ve known a few I wouldn’t mind wrestling with again.”

  “You are confusing me with your imprecise use of the Terran English,” Gor’al said.

  “Forget about it,” Duke said. “Keep your eyes open. If you see that locker, point it out. Don’t want any good-looking redhead tube babes to asphyxiate.”

  “Of course not. I feel very terrible for putting her there, but there were limited options,” Gor’al said.

  Duke kept moving, checking over his shoulder and hoping the Dotari Marine was doing the same wherever he was.

  It seemed darker in the hallways leading to the engine room, but that was probably his heightened senses. He downed all his unnecessary gear and moved smoothly into the cavernous area. It never ceased to amaze him how big the engines and their components were. It was like walking in the land of the Titans.

  He made several corners, finding nothing. “Duke for Gor, report.”

  “No one has attempted to leave through this doorway,” Gor’al said.

  Duke continued until he heard soft footsteps. He closed the distance slowly, following her as she moved ever closer to Gor’al’s position.

  “I know you,” he whispered, moving up behind the tall redhead. “Gor’al wasn’t lying, was he?”

  Unarmed, former Strike Marine Kate Adams turned and launched a vicious roundhouse kick at his head. He jumped back, unable to completely avoid the strike, taking most of it on his upper left arm. He’d forgotten how fast she was, but he didn’t want to shoot her.

  “Adams! Stop fucking around!” he shouted.

  “I do this for the Lady!” she grunted as she rushed him again.

  He secured his carbine to his kit and reached for the stun pistol—which she kicked from his hands. He retreated as she jumped into the air, launching a flying punch at his face. He sidestepped, taking a glancing blow on his helmet, which she followed with an elbow, striking him on his faceplate. The force knocked him off-balance.

  He jabbed with his left, then swung a powerful haymaker with his right. The blow staggered her backward. She feinted, then lunged to punch his throat, striking him both times where his armor wasn’t as rigid. He started choking as he stumbled.

  She executed a perfect spinning back kick, catching him just below his sternum. Air whooshed from his lungs as he flew backward. He hit the deck hard, realizing she was coming at him, probably to drop a knee on his face.

  Gor’al charged out of the shadows, wrapping hi
s arms around her waist and tackling her to the deck. They rolled over and over, punching and kicking and grabbing each other.

  Duke scrambled to his feet as they screamed Dotari and Basque curses at each other, Adams getting to her feet a second faster than Gor’al and shoving him backward. She turned and ran.

  “Go…after her,” Duke groaned.

  Gor’al hesitated. “You’re hurt.”

  “What’s new? I said go get her!”

  ****

  Valdar glared at the comms holo. A wave of digital dots coalesced, but he couldn’t get the image of the Ibarran captain to solidify.

  “Labourd Actual for stolen vessel. Cut your engine thrust and stand by to be boarded,” the faceless captain said.

  “Breitenfeld Actual to Labourd, I’m receiving audio only. It sounded like you wish for us to abort our escape from your illegal seizure. Can you advise?”

  “Whoever this is, that is not appropriate for this channel. We are firing a warning shot. Cut engines and comply with my lawful commands,” the cruiser captain demanded.

  “Incoming,” Egan said. “A clear miss and not heavy enough to do us much harm if it hit, but eventually, they are going to be a real problem.”

  “Understood,” Valdar said. “Guns, what’s the holdup? We have one enemy cruiser harassing, which shouldn’t be a problem—if we can shoot it. I’d take a solid bluff at this point.”

  “Just a minor snafu with loading,” Petty Chief Nielsen responded. “We should improve every time we load a new magazine.”

  “Let’s hope so, Chief,” Valdar said, then turned to his bridge crew. “Breitenfeld for Labourd, withdraw or be fired upon. We don’t want unnecessary loss of life. You can’t stop a ship this size. Be smart. Consider the lives of your crew.”

  “You will cut engines and heave to,” the Ibarran said, probably through clenched teeth by the sound of his voice.

  “He’s stalling, trying to slow us down, I think,” Egan said.

  “Agreed. Let’s hope he wasn’t able to alert other Ibarrans,” Valdar said.

  “Admiral?” Duke asked a little hesitantly. “Sorry, sir, I’m a bit out of my element.”

  “Not to worry, Sergeant. What is it? A bit of sniper advice for a warship without functioning weapons?” Valdar asked.

  Duke grinned. “Actually, sir, no,” he said, in a much more confident, relaxed tone. “I was going to point out that you have two crew here for bridge security and my time would be better spent sweeping and clearing unclear decks of the Breitenfeld. It’s likely we missed some Ibarrans during our abrupt departure. But since you asked, sir, there is one thing.”

  “By all means, Marine, get to work,” Valdar said, narrowing his gaze. “What advice would the White Fate of Koensu give me at this critical juncture in our escape?”

  “Be patient in a hurry,” Duke said. “That’s what I’d do.”

  “Are you chewing tobacco on my bridge, Sergeant?” Valdar asked.

  “Might be, sir. I’d have to check. Sorry, sir. It’s a filthy habit.” Duke shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, sir.”

  The admiral smiled wryly. “Get out of here. Get to work.”

  Duke presented the best salute of his life. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  Valdar faced his crew. “XO, do we have a firing solution?” he asked, glancing at the sniper as he left.

  “We’re ready and waiting,” Egan said.

  “Open comms to that ship,” Valdar said. “Breitenfeld to Labourd, stand down immediately.”

  “I can’t do that, Breitenfeld.” The Ibarran sounded resigned to his fate.

  Valdar signaled to cut the link completely. “Fire on my mark. We can’t have Ibarran cruisers running us down after all the work we went through to escape. Guns, are you ready now?”

  “Yes, sir.” The crew chief sounded tired but satisfied. “We’ve got a magazine of tungsten slugs with the Ibarrans’ name on it.”

  “All right, people. Let’s fire one across her bow and see what happens,” Valdar said, watching and waiting.

  “No response,” Egan said.

  “Not surprising. Put the next one someplace interesting. Let’s see if we can wound them.”

  “Their approach vector gives us an angle shot on their engines,” his XO said.

  “Perfect. Make it happen.” Valdar watched his bridge crew with pride as they functioned with efficiency. Half of them were filling jobs that they’d been trained to do as backups—or not at all. Not everyone had made it through the recent battles or escaped Liberty.

  It took three rounds to score a hit, but the third blew out half the cruiser’s engines.

  ****

  "We are approaching the Crucible gate," Valdar said. "Marc, you're up.”

  Marc Ibarra had been hanging back, practically part of the wall, which was for the best, given his appearance. He moved forward to a terminal, paused almost theatrically, and then began typing at an inhuman speed. "There we have it. Simple. You wanted a miracle, and I give you the Crucible gate override codes, with special thanks to Keeper."

  "Very good, Marc," Valdar said, not quite looking at the man and appearing tired of his plots and machinations.

  He checked on each section chief and read reports, falling quickly into his old routine quickly. The only person he couldn't seem to raise was Hoffman, which was odd. Normally, he was quick to respond.

  "That's strange," Marc said.

  Valdar switched a portion of his workstation to see what Marc was seeing. "Are we having problems with the Crucible network?"

  No response.

  "Marc?"

  The chrome man seemed to be talking to himself, rather than responding to Valdar's inquiry. "That's funny. I didn't input the destination gate."

  A chill went up Valdar’s spine.

  ****

  Adams moved with impunity through the Breitenfeld. She knew each corridor from her time with Hoffman’s team, a part of her life best not thought about too often. It was hard to imagine why she’d been serving with the enemy, but she consoled herself that she’d been doing Lady Ibarra’s will.

  Like she was doing now.

  Twice she had avoided patrols, which wasn't hard because the tactics of the Terran Strike Marines and the Navy were second nature to her. She knew how they thought, what they wanted, what kind of jokes they would tell before each mission. Her time with the Terran Strike Marines hadn’t been useless. She’d learned much.

  And they’d saved the Dotari from the phage. Pushing aside thoughts of the mission to the Kid’ran’s Gift, she concentrated on what she had to do now.

  Her plan to use insulation sleeves from the graviton generators had been an epiphany. Knowing what she was and how she was programmed, though, made her skeptical that the idea was original. She wasn't an engineer or a scientist, but she knew this would work. She’d always known it would work—like someone had given it to her in whole cloth.

  Terran Strike Marine armor was different from the legionnaires’. They relied more on the pseudo-muscle under layer, but they were also integrated with complex haptic feedback loops—which was where the insulation sleeve would come in. Combined with a standard arc welder, it could be modified to create a powerful weapon. Against an unarmed person or a legionnaire, it wouldn't do much, but against one of the murdering Strike Marines, it would be very effective.

  All she had to do was point the device, pull the trigger, and wait for the haptic feedback loops to overload. In seconds, the armor would become worse than a straitjacket. The idea of being tied up in her own gear made her want to curse.

  She focused on her objective. Now that she had a device that could demobilize a Strike Marine, she needed to find the victim Lady Ibarra would want to talk to.

  Someone like her old boss.

  Alive would be better than dead, but she would do what was required to remain free of the Terran Union. Submission to them meant death.

  ****

  Hoffman worked his way throug
h deck twelve, systematically checking each room and hallway on his way to the graviton generators. King moved at his side, unusually silent. It was good to be back in his regular gear. Checking his HUD and scanning several comm channels felt natural and easy.

  “It’s good to be back in Strike Marine armor,” Hoffman said.

  “Yes, sir. Soft clothing is unnatural,” King said in perfect seriousness.

  Hoffman laughed. Things were looking up. He was confident the rest of his team was going to make it, that he had done his job and they would get to go home after the war. The constant dread he had felt after Opal passed was fading, unbelievable as that was.

  For a time, Hoffman hadn’t been himself. With Valdar back and the end of the mission in sight, he felt human again. Victory was good for morale.

  Something moved near the end of the hallway. Raising his weapon, he advanced in a tactical crouch. "Hammer Six, we have contact with an unknown individual, deck twelve, section thirty-three. That's the reserve flight deck. This could be a sabotage team or someone escaping. Looks like shields are set for ship departure, but the graviton generator seems to be functioning normally, contrary to what the sensor reported. It's a big area. King and I may need another body to search and clear.”

  Steuben answered in his ear. "I will move to assist. Try not to trip and fall into the void.”

  "Is anyone else close?" Hoffman asked.

  "We can handle it, Lieutenant," King said. “Someday we’ll have a full squad. When pigs fly.”

  “Roger that," Hoffman said, rounding the corner to the flight deck. The space was empty of void craft, but large enough for a pair of shuttles. A force field across open bay doors kept atmosphere in the ship.

  Adams was there, wearing a void suit and rigging up grenades on a force field emitter. If she managed to blow it, the sudden and massive decompression would shut down several decks of the ship and probably knock the under-crewed ship off line as more systems failed from the damage.