by J. W. Kurtz
"Roger that, Beta. I'm handing you over to Alexander who'll be your eyes and ears. Wait one," Ryan directed as he switched channels over to the newly arrived Gavin Alexander on the bridge. In recent minutes a couple more bridge crew had reported to assist in the defense of the ship. There were now five bridge crew including the Captain lending support in the defense. Alexander, formerly of the CDF, was a weapons officer in his former life. Ayad was happy for Alexander to be his eyes and ears. He knew and trusted the man.
"Beta, this is your eyes and ears here. Let's find your lone wolf. Stand by. Hunting for your hostile. Hunting. I think I'm on his trail..searching, searching, shit! Got him! He burned through a bulkhead and is..."
Angelo had warmed up his shoulder mounted plasma cannons and heavily charged them just past the redline. Both were spun up to 110 percent and ready to be unleashed. The cockpit of the assault skiff just outside the hatch of the maintenance shed where he was currently laying in wait was pre-designated as the primary target in the queue. Taking out those needler cannons on the chin turret of the skiff, the only weapon system he had thus far spotted amongst the defenders in the hangar that could do any real damage to him, was paramount. His next target would be the guy in the middle of the group who appeared to be their leader. He expected the body of this shoddy defense to die quickly after he took off the head.
The external microphone of Angelo's heavy battlesuit picked up the sudden whirring of servos from the closed circuit camera just above his head. It was clear to him now that the advantage of the heavy jammer, which had been very effective against the wireless network and the poorly shielded hardlines of this obsolete rust bucket, was now offline. Angelo wished his team had more than one with them but they were very expensive and extremely power hungry pieces of equipment. Wishing wouldn't solve anything right now though. It was time to strike.
Just as Angelo was manipulating the hatch controls, to spring his ambush of the ambushers, he spotted the leader of the defenders shouting orders and pointing in his direction. Complete surprise had been spoiled but the defenders were still overly exposed to his flanking position and the chin turret of the skiff had not yet begun to traverse in his direction. Angelo's gauntlet mashed the control panel, destroying the controls in the process due to the enhanced strength of the exoskeleton, but not before the correct function had been triggered.
The weighty hatch, sliding aside with glacial speed on aged bearings, was not entirely open before Angelo triggered the supercharged shoulder mounted plasma cannons. From such close range the overcharged bolts lanced the thinly armored cockpit of the nearby skiff. Both pilot and gunner of the assault skiff died before they knew they were even under fire, their bodies no more than smoking carbon in seats covered in molten steel and melted polymers. The ensuing fire in the cockpit was put out almost as quickly as it had been ignited by the automatic internal fire suppression systems of the skiff. The bird was saved by the system fire would not spread to cause more damage about the deck but two of the Belle's pilots were now very dead and the guns of the skiff were silenced before they had said but a word.
Angelo charged forward as fast as his powered servos would carry him into the hangar proper. His forearm mounted weapons blasting the flanks of the exposed defenders leaning against the barricade before the main hangar hatch. He was disappointed to see that the leader of the defenders, his secondary target after the skiff crew, was nowhere to be seen. Angelo had not thought the hatch he had been hiding behind would take so long to slide open. In the time it had taken for that aged hatch to part, the leader of the force defending the hangar had disappeared along with at least two of the crew near him.
A disappointed Angelo Dixon temporarily edged toward despair but elation quickly trumped this emotion as he blasted to pieces the three surprised defenders who were frozen fatally in place upon his sudden and aggressive charge. The body count was five, and none of those five had gotten off so much as a single shot in his direction. Somewhere in this hangar there were three more kills waiting to be made.
Suspecting that they had retreated around a large shuttle, which was occupying more than a third of the hangar, Angelo took a couple steps in that direction before halting. He thought to himself for a moment, and in an odd move of restraint, the second such instance in recent minutes, Angelo instead continued through the hangar to an aft hatch leading to the engineering and propulsion spaces. This move was not out of any professionalism related to his sticking to the assigned mission. No, he was continuing aft to the more sensitive areas of the ship because now, after years and years of killing for money and mostly enjoyment, something in his miss-wired brain had finally been triggered. A path of thought considered previously only in passing was now being followed in earnest. It was then and there that he truly began to mull over and plot the final end and just how many he could take with him.
Angelo, under the unyielding influence of blood lust, was now committing to actions that would annihilate the ship. He would kill everyone. Himself included.
He'd never been more excited in his life.
Chapter 15:
Time: 16:47 (Zulu)
"Boss, we took heavy losses. But I think we at least damaged those assholes some," Kyler Bachman said, his voice heavy with exertion. The message was relayed to Captain Wray via the recently reactivated wireless tactical network. "Looks like we lost both Petty and Langston. Condition of Van Vorst is unknown. I can't get a read on her suit. Proto took a hit and we're falling back to our secondary position to stabilize him. We're going to put him in a couch and place him in stasis until we can get the Doc to fix'em up. With the network reactivated Van Vorst's suit should be feeding you telemetry and vitals. Do you have her on your board?"
"Affirmative, Kyler, we have her suit. We weren't able to synch your teams few battlesuits before the jamming started. Will do now however. Her status is...she's still alive but her vitals are wavering. She's busted up pretty good and she isn't answering the comm request. Is there any way you can get to her from your current position?"
Kyler responded with a dejected sigh, "that's a negative Captain. They got pissed and started lobbing heavy explosives around. The corridor is completely blocked. I think a portion of the upper port fast-tube collapsed onto the deck. She may in fact be buried in some of the wreckage. Only way to get to her would be to go down another level maybe, and then come back up a ladder aft of her, but with Takashi and I being the only effectives right now between the hostiles, environmental, and the bridge I don't think we can wade in against two still operational heavies and that third fella out there somewhere. I want to...but it would be a hell'uva risk to leave environmental and the bridge exposed. You should've seen her, Captain. She charged those two and planted motion limpets on one of them while they were frozen from the flash-scrambler. I think she knocked out that heavy jammer on her own. You have them on any of the cameras?"
"We're searching... They must have retreated back along their original path, and it appears they knocked out every camera and sensor cluster they came across," Wray answered. "They're in the fog."
The bridge of the Belle' was designed to manage ship-to-ship engagements. Offensive boarding actions could also be directed, but they were usually well-planned and choreographed operations, like the taking of the Osprey shuttle had been only hours before. This impromptu action however was a challenge to coordinate. Thankfully more bridge crew had joined the efforts of the ships defense, which had relieved Wray from alone monitoring several stations.
Including Wray, there were now five of the regular bridge crew present. While Max Gillespie was solely responsible for the helm and maintaining the present course of the Belle', the others, Ryan, Prieto, and Alexander were tasked solely with assisting in the hunting down and destruction of the three boarders loose on the ship.
The recent disabling of the heavy jammer employed by the boarders had gone a long way to evening the odds. Re-enabling wireless communications and the tactical net was key. But even tho
ugh the attackers had done a good job taking out the cameras, sensors, and monitoring stations in an attempt to blind the defenders, this lack of input actually allowed for their position to be roughly maintained. The crew could narrow down where the enemy was and was not simply by the lack of signal. Where there was no signal from the sensors in this fog-of-war there was a good chance hostiles were nearby.
The problem was that it was a large fog.
"Kyler," Wray resumed, "once you've tucked Darius into stasis, again contact the bridge. Oh, and I don't suppose you have any more explosives on hand, do you?"
"Negative, Boss. Winchester on limpets and explosives. Pretty sure the only stash on the ship that can dent those fuckers is in the port armory, and again, we're cut off from that like we're cut off from Van Vorst," Bachman answered in a tone full of frustration. "Let me know the moment you get a fix on those Ogres, Captain. And have it sent to my system. I don't want 'em sneaking up on us."
"Roger that, Kyler. Bridge, out."
By all rights, the entire Alpha team should be dead if not for the aggressiveness of Van Vorst and the quick thinking of Bachman. The distraction, and damage for that matter, to the attackers by detonation of the motion triggered limpet mines set by Van Vorst had given Bachman enough time to get Takashi and the injured Darius away from the ensuing grenade fire that caused such wicked destruction to the space previously occupied by the team.
Regret and guilt hovered in the back of Bachman's mind as he was forced to leave the terribly wounded Jason Petty to his death when he and Takashi dragged the injured Darius away from the chaos. Had they stayed to attempt to save Jason, most assuredly, the whole team would have been wiped out. These are the type of decisions Bachman had made in his previous life as a special forces operator in the service of the CDF. He never liked making these decisions, and in fact, he thought it funny to himself that he was here making them now. Part of the reason why he took the privateer route was to avoid those responsibilities. There was no enjoyment in resuming the old habits, practicing battlefield triage by deciding who lives and who dies. Thankfully much of the habit and routine of it was a resumed function much like muscle memory.
Surviving the detonation of the high explosive grenade, launched seemingly out of a spite filled retaliation, and not out of forethought as the destruction retarded the boarders own aims, Bachman and Takashi managed to retreat with the injured Darius carried between them. They found themselves in a compartment, which in days past when the ship went by the name Ridley, was once enlisted crew quarters. Now it was no more than dusty storage for broken down components.
Bachman and Takashi were now a scant 100-meters away from the primary environmental and life-support control station and 200-meters aft of the bridge. Both of which were on the same deck level. Bachman hoped that the unfamiliar warren of corridors and ladders needing to be navigated by the two hostiles would buy he and Takashi some time to regroup for the defense. He wished he had more to work with besides just the two of them operating as effectives.
The large and musty storage compartment held numerous containers strapped and secured to the deck in various manners. Surprisingly there was very little debris strewn throughout the space. The containers were arranged in an orderly fashion allowing ease of movement. Bachman thought perhaps this was the best looking space on the ship in regards to it being squared away, despite the dust that coated everything and the musty smell that pervaded of course. He suspected that proper ventilation had been shut off in the compartment because it was so infrequently used.
Despite the compartments obvious disuse it had two things the remainder of Alpha needed. First, it had a class-one first aid trauma kit affixed to the bulkhead near the hatch. It was an old kit harkening back to the days when a half-dozen enlisted CDF crew called the space home. Second, the six emergency acceleration couches lining the far bulkhead were all lit green signaling that they were operational. This would allow Darius to be placed in stasis, hopefully to later be revived after the successful defense of the ship.
Takashi snatched the aid kit from the bulkhead and began administering aid to his grievously injured friend. Darius was currently unconscious and offered no protest. The plasma bolt that had struck Darius, while he was attempting to drag an injured Jason Petty to safety, should have killed him outright. Tremendous trauma had occurred as a result of the superheated bolt of focused energy. Bachman let Takashi take the lead in the battlefield medicine work as Takashi was obviously, and surprisingly, a far better battlefield medic than Bachman believed himself to be.
Bachman lent assistance when requested. He very much doubted that Darius, if he survived, would be walking anytime soon on that leg. Most probably the leg would be lost and a biomechanical replacement grafted on, an operation that would need a facility better than the one on the Belle'. He'd definitely have to wait until they got back to the Cove.
Nanite infused burn gel had been applied to the wound and surrounding area, the gel also worked as a disinfectant and antibiotic. The nanites would eat any malicious bacteria and dead tissue with ease and then work on sealing any leaks. The wound was then wrapped and Darius was carefully placed in an acceleration couch by the two. The couch having been commanded to tilt back already to be horizontal with the deck.
Bachman set to work programming the couch for medical stasis while Takashi leaned in to administer a final pneumatic injection of stabilizers into the neck of his friend. With the injection complete, Takashi was about to affix the breathing mask when the eyes of Darius snapped open. The suddenness of Darius opening his eyes startled Takashi, who almost fell backwards. Weakly, Darius motioned for Takashi to come near as a quiet Bachman looked on. Takashi bent down and listened to his friend speak in a bare whisper before he again passed out from the pain, the effects from the recent injection, or both. The mask was then firmly affixed before Takashi stepped back to allow the acceleration couch to seal and perform its instructed duties.
Takashi had a blank look on his face.
"What did he say?" Bachman asked.
"He said he had a daughter...I didn't know he had a daughter. He thanked me for letting him win in cards so often because he always sent her the winnings," Takashi answered in a sheepish voice. "I never let him win on purpose. Glad I'm a shitty at cards."
A long pause followed before Bachman asked a second question.
"Where did you, a cook, learn to perform battlefield trauma stabilizations like that? That was about the best I've seen, and I've seen too much of it."
"I don't know anything beyond the basic first aid required to get a service license to work in space...I just did what I thought made sense. Actually, I was ready for you to take over at any time. The blood didn't bother me...though there was a lot of it. An awful lot of it."
"You could'a fooled me, Tak. That was some expert level shit you did there. You no doubt saved his life. The medical function on the couch is working properly. An umbilical will attach and he'll get blood expanders and anything else he'll need to keep stable until the Doc can see to him. You did great," Bachman said as he turned to Takashi. He placed a glove, smeared with drying blood and burn gel, on Takashi's shoulder and looked him in the eye before continuing, "now grab some stims, water, and an energy bar and check the charge on your carbine. Great job by the way not leaving your weapon behind. We'll make a shooter out you yet."
Bachman then approvingly rapped his knuckles on the chest of the vacsuit worn by Takashi before walking away to check his own kit and search the compartment they were in for anything useful prior to checking back in with the Captain.
As Bachman walked away Takashi looked down at his own bare hands, his blood covered gloves sitting on the deck next to the aid kit near the hatch. He noted that his hands were not shaking as they had before. He mumbled to himself, "I think I'll stick to cooking. And playing cards poorly."
*****
Approximately 8-Minutes Earlier
Due to circumstances partly beyond their control, Mari
e Weston and Chon Chavez had been out of the loop.
After the recent operation to hijack the shuttle Osprey, after the Siren employed by the Belle' had pulled her out of transit space, both Weston and Chavez had been assigned the task of storing and securing, in secret, the mysterious box containing the extraordinary material that seemingly shut down everything electronic while in close proximity.
The most secure location on the ship was the space formerly occupied by the ships purser. For all intents and purposes, Simon Totts was the purser now. Items and loot of high value were never stored with him though. The Captain didn't trust him. It was serious note of contention between the two. So, from time to time, sensitive materials retrieved from their various missions, were stored in the more neutral and unoccupied vault-like compartment.
The unusually heavy box for its size had been laboriously carried by the two utilizing the handy cradle woven by the Captain earlier in the hangar. A grav sled would have been preferable to transport the box, but again, due to the extraordinary effects of the oddly resonating radiation, it had to be carried through the power of physical labor. Not even the enhanced strength offered by their powered battlesuits was immune to the magic of the odd find. The cradle was an absolute lifesaver in that the box was awkward as hell to carry between two people, but it was heavy enough that it really did require two bodies to move it any real distance, and it was several hundred meters from the hangar to the secure storage location, up two ladders, and through the mazelike corridors that made up the guts of the Belle'.
Weston and Chavez chose wisely not to take the fast-pipe out of concern that the mysterious contents would possibly inhibit the inertial dampeners or other vital safety systems of the high speed intra-ship transport. Once they arrived at their destination one thing, not so surprisingly, led to another and pretty soon both of their battlesuits and kits were in a heap on the deck next to the item they were responsible for securing. Weston, as usual the voice of reason, thought it best that they not have sex next to the alien relic, emitting what had been described as "strange radiation" but believed to be harmless. The word "believed" bothered her to no end, and once they had shucked their suits, which provided a degree more than a modicum of radiation protection, the concern in her mind burned through the passion of the moment and she easily coaxed Chavez to follow her to a neighboring cabin. Her words of caution not inspiring his compliance so much as her shapely rear end, which he dutifully chased after.