Finish the Fight: Echoes of War Book Seven

by Gibbs, Daniel

  “That’s because we’re drawing too much power for shields and energy weapons,” Hayworth barked. He was stationed on the first level, at the base of the reactor’s control assembly, working a control console. “If we don’t reduce it, the fuel will continue to overheat.”

  “Not an option, Doctor!” Hanson said as his hands flew over a series of buttons that handled the regulators. He was so focused on rerouting around pipes warped from overheated deuterium, it took a few moments for him to register the sound of gunshots coming from below. “What the hell?” he blurted out as Hanson glanced over the rail to see a group of black-clad soldiers with the League insignia of a raised fist on their uniforms attempt to rush in.

  Curses and screams rang out as the squad of Terran Coalition Marines assigned to protect the reactor engaged the enemy. Sharp reports of battle rifles echoed, a muffled sound for most of the engineers, as they wore specialized ear protection due to the loud noise of the engineering space. Despite the friendly troop's best efforts, several Leaguers forced their way in and took defensive positions behind cover.

  Hanson reached for the sidearm on his thigh and hefted it. As he brought it up, he checked the safety and ensured the directed energy weapon was set to maximum. “Cover!” He grabbed an enlisted rating next to him and dragged the man behind a container of spare parts. “Everybody, get down now!”

  Incoming bullets pinged the walls and showered sparks. Several engineers went down with gunshot wounds, their screams echoing throughout the cramped space. A couple of Leaguers jumped up from cover and tried to charge the TCMC positions. They didn’t get far before concentrated battle rifle fire felled both. “Push forward!” one of the Marines screamed, his loud voice audible over the din of combat.

  On the second level, Hanson gripped his weapon tightly and rotated himself so he could fire from behind the crate. He sent several bursts of hot blue energy into the fray, aimed at where he’d spotted League troops before. A thud beside him drew his attention—Merriweather dropped next to him.

  “I counted sixteen hostiles on deck fourteen. They tried to push through the deck fifteen entrance too.” Merriweather grunted, sticking her hand out and stroking the trigger of her weapon a few times. “Leaguers won’t make that mistake again.”

  Hanson peeked over their cover, only to invite a burst of red energy. “Pretty sure this is the first time in my career I’ve used a weapon in anger.”

  “Same,” Merriweather said as she smirked. “I think this is my first time in direct combat outside of the Lion’s ship-to-ship engagements.”

  “On three?”

  Merriweather nodded.

  “One… two… three!” Hanson twisted and brought his pistol over the top of the crate. He quickly sighted down on the nearest enemy combatant he could see and squeezed the trigger rapidly. Several bolts of blue energy—everything seemed to be going at high speed, so he wasn’t sure quite how many—toward the torso of an exposed Leaguer. The first shot went wide, but the rest hit. They impacted the cheap body armor the conscripts wore, melting it like a hot knife through butter. The man collapsed on the deck as blood pooled under him.

  Not to be outdone, Merriweather rose, firing repeatedly. Her shots flew true as well, cutting down two more enemy soldiers. During the exchange, the friendly Marines on the first level tossed several pulse grenades in unison; they exploded in bright flashes of light that stunned the remaining Leaguers. After that, it was over in a few seconds. The few enemies left that weren’t dead were relieved of their weapons and restrained with zip-tie cuffs.

  “Thanks for the assist,” Hanson yelled toward the first level. “I’m sure the engineers could’ve handled it, but we’re always glad for Marine backup.”

  The Marine sergeant in charge of the detachment held up a power-armored gauntlet and slowly extended her middle finger upward. “That’s all I’ve got to say, Major.”

  Hanson burst out laughing, even as the shock of combat set in. He holstered his sidearm, and it was only then he realized his hand was shaking. After a few deep breaths, Hanson glanced to his side. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Merriweather leaned over the crate. She exhaled loudly. “That was… different.”

  “I’m still alive, if anyone cares.” The sound of Hayworth’s voice carried from the first level. “I suggest we come up with a better strategy for dealing with these communist thugs.”

  Merriweather slid her pistol back into its holster on her thigh. “He’s a lot more energetic about this than I would’ve expected.”

  “You and me both,” Hanson replied to her. He poked his head over the railing. “Any ideas, Doctor?”

  “Get all hatches to the engineering area sealed. Meanwhile, I need to do some computer work.”

  “Why don’t you leave the fighting to the Marines?” the sergeant running the detachment said as she pointed out new firing positions to the remaining members of her squad. Corpsmen tended the wounded, while the rest of the engineers tried to get on with their jobs.

  “Because I use my brain to fight, ma’am,” Hayworth replied, his mouth curling up into a smile. “And my brain is smarter than any five Leaguers. Now get those doors sealed.”

  The sergeant pointedly turned her head and stared at Hanson. “Major?”

  “Do it. If Dr. Hayworth has an idea, it's probably a good one.”

  The older man grumbled as he walked off. “Too bad it took you three years to figure that out, my boy!”

  19

  “Conn, TAO, aspect change, Masters Sixty-seven, and Sixty-eight,” Ruth called out, referencing two Alexander class battleships. “They’re moving at us on an intercept course, flank speed. Both ships have enhanced plasma weaponry.”

  The last bit, she didn’t need to add. David observed the Lion’s forward shields drop like a stone from repeated impacts. Groups of enemy vessels were starting to reengage, though thankfully, they still appeared to be disjointed. If they get their act together, we’re still hopelessly outnumbered. That was the crux of the problem—while they had a momentary reprieve unless the Leaguers started making critical mistakes, there was still no way to win. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Sixty-seven. Forward particle beams, magnetic-cannons, and neutron emitters.”

  “Aye, aye, sir, firing solutions set. Twenty seconds to full particle beam charge.”

  “Navigation, bring us to six degrees to starboard, ten degrees down bubble. Intercept course, Master Sixty-seven.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Hammond replied.

  More League plasma balls slammed into the Lion’s fore deflector until it blinked out. David could see through the transparent alloy windows at the front of the bridge as they started splattering against the ship’s tough armor. He mentally counted down the remaining seconds. “TAO, match bearings, shoot, all weapons.”

  The lights dimmed as the underslung particle beams discharged first. Four spears of bright white light split the heavens. They intersected first with the shields of the League battleship, which failed after less than five seconds and punched through the hull, out the other side of the vessel. Molten alloys drained away from its gaping wounds as magnetic-cannon shells and neutron beams raked the stricken craft from bow to stern.

  “Conn, TAO… Master Sixty-seven disabled, sir! She’s drifting and launching escape pods.” The much needed—if minor—victory brought renewed hope in Ruth’s voice.

  “Good shooting, Captain. Double load magnetic-cannon turrets with EMP and armor-piercing rounds.” Okay, that was a nice trick, but it’ll take ten minutes to recharge our primary battlewagon busters. He stared at the tactical plot, trying to evaluate the best course of action. Since we’ve got a full load of Hunters back in the VRLS, maybe half a salvo would neutralize the other Alexander… or we could run down its escorts. His contemplation was interrupted by the sound of the intruder alarm.

  “Sir, we’ve got enemy troops in the deck one passageway,” Tinetariro began. “Advise venting the rest of deck one to zero-G.”

/>   “Negative, Master Chief. I have to assume they have explosives and will blow the door before they expire. That would kill the rest of us too.”

  Tinetariro frowned and shook her head. “Valid point, sir.”

  “Bridge defense protocol, ladies and gentlemen,” David said as he stood. “Master Chief, set up firing lanes and put our personnel with battle rifles in cover. Everyone else, stand fast and do your jobs. Clear?”

  Muffled replies of “Aye, aye, sir,” rang out as enlisted ratings rushed to their posts. The two Marine sentries were front and center—they’d insisted on leading the defense. Tinetariro barked out orders, and in short order, there was a decent cluster of friendly soldiers pointing rifles at the hatch.

  “Conn, TAO. Targeting orders, sir?”

  “Weapons free, TAO. I trust you to get it right,” David replied with a tight smile. He checked the chambered round in his battle rifle and knelt behind an auxiliary communication console. A glance down the holographic sight confirmed he had the middle of the hatch locked in.

  They didn’t have to wait long. A few moments later, a series of explosions rocked the hatch, and it fell backward with a bone-jarring thud that shook the deck. As the smoke cleared, a group of at least twenty League soldiers were visible. "Open fire!” Tinetariro barked, her voice taking on a quality akin to a drill instructor.

  The sharp reports of battle rifles firing on single fire and three-round bursts filled the bridge. Several Leaguers fell to the deck as dark red stains spread across their gray uniforms. Others gamely returned fire with ballistic projectile and energy weapons. One of the technicians closest to the door pitched back as she took a bullet to the upper chest.

  David stroked the trigger of his battle rifle, putting a three-round burst into the center mass of an unlucky enemy. The air was thick with the smell of propellent as he shifted his aim ever so slightly and sent the next burst. The moans of the technician attracted his attention. I’m one of the closest. “Cover me,” he yelled, and sprang from cover a moment later, running at full tilt the few steps to the console before he dropped down next to her. A quick glance told him it was more severe than a shoulder wound. Instead, the bullet appeared to have gone through her neck.

  The technician reached up and grabbed at David’s uniform, her blood-stained fingers leaving streaks across it. “Help me, sir. Please.”

  “Corpsman!” David screamed at the top of his lungs even as he set the selector switch on his battle rifle to full automatic. He stuck the weapon over the console and held down the trigger, sending dozens of rounds into the oncoming Leaguers. Two seconds later, the firing pin clicked after the last bullet in the magazine fired.

  The corridor beyond was filled with the bodies of over a dozen enemy boarders. Survivors crouched behind the fallen bodies and fired on the bridge team defenders. The relative lull gave a medic all the opening he needed to make his way to the fallen technician. He ran a scanner over her wound and glanced up at David with a shake of his head.

  As her struggles and breathing stopped, David still gripped her hand. He bowed his head. “God, filled with mercy, dwelling in the heaven’s heights, bring proper rest beneath the wings of Your angels, amid the ranks of the holy and the pure, illuminating like the brilliance of the skies the souls of Private Cooper, who went to her eternal place of rest.” The prayer felt hollow in the depths of his soul, but he clung to the idea that she was in a better place.

  “They’re coming again; get ready!” Tinetariro screamed.

  “Conn, TAO, aspect change… incoming wormholes. A lot of them, sir!” Ruth’s voice went up an active.

  David stared back toward the front of the bridge in alarm. I can hear the fear in her words. We can’t handle another League fleet. “Signature, Captain?” More reports sounded from both League and CDF weapons. He found his attention divided between the enemy trying to kill him two meters away, and the one outside the hull attempting the same thing.

  “Not League, sir,” Ruth replied. “All over the map, and definitely some civilian Lawrence drive models, but not the Leaguers.”

  Civilians? What the heck are they doing here? Before David could vocalize his disbelief, another voice cut in.

  “General,” Taylor’s shouted over the tumult. “I’ve got a communication here you’re going to want to see.”

  Now that I can believe. David took care to stay crouched behind consoles until he made his way to the communications vestibule, which offered some protection from Leaguer bullets. “Put it up, Lieutenant.”

  A button press later, James Henry’s chiseled face appeared on one of the smaller monitors. It was different than what David remembered. Though sober, the weariness that had seemed to permeate his soul before was gone. “General Cohen, glad you're still in one piece. Admiral James Henry of the Independent Systems, commanding from the Liberator, at your service.”

  Admiral? “Henry, I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here.” What in the devil is he up to?

  “I wish I could’ve been here sooner. Still, better late than never. I’ve had a bit of a promotion since our last meeting.” Henry smiled broadly. “The fleet that just jumped in belongs to the Independent Systems Alliance. We’ve got smaller warships and a lot of up-armored and heavily armed civilian ships. Permission to join the battle?”

  “Gladly.” David’s mind raced. “We’ll plug you in as best as we can to the tactical network. Our right flank is depleted, and League formations are moving forward to threaten the Lion. We’re dealing with boarding parties, so if you can intercept, I’ll be in your debt.”

  “We’re on it, General. Do you require assistance to deal with the boarders?”

  “I don’t think so, but if it gets too hairy, I’ll let you know. Good luck… there’s a lot of enemy ships out there.”

  Henry laughed. “Target-rich environment.”

  “That it is. Godspeed, Captain Henry. Cohen out.”

  “Godspeed to you too,” Henry replied as he cut the connection.

  David’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he took in the other man’s comment. That’s different. The last time he’d spoken with Henry, he’d been as convinced as ever God didn’t care about humanity any longer. I wonder what changed? He resolved to find out, assuming they both survived.

  * * *

  Lieutenant François Travere checked his plasma rifle. I can’t believe I’m here. A few years prior, he’d been working on his father’s vineyard in the south of France. Then came the call for the children of the League to respond to the aggression of the Terran Coalition’s capitalist invaders. Even though, thanks to his family's immense wealth and connections to the highest levels of the League’s government, the draft hadn’t applied, Travere felt a duty to his motherland to defend her.

  One of the power-armored Marines next to him let out a sigh. “We’re finally going to beat these damn Terrans.”

  “Don’t count your grapes before the harvest, Private,” Travere replied sharply. “They’ll fight like hell to defend this ship. Never forget this is a most capable enemy.”

  Another Marine laughed. “Don’t let the commissar hear you say that, Lieutenant.”

  “I don’t see him around. Most amusing how he and the rest of them were unable to deploy.”

  Derisive snickers filled the corridor. The two squads had cleared two decks so far and were advancing toward the enemy's engineering spaces. The plan was to seize main engineering and take control of the ship from there.

  Travere held up his hand, signaling the rest to hold. “CDF hardened checkpoint, fifty meters, and one corridor over.” The remote control sensor drone attached to his armored suit had already proven a life-saver, twice so far. “Fire teams form on me.”

  The League Marines melted into fire teams of four, moving down the corridor with practiced precision. They might not have the same technology as their foe, but Travere had ensured at least his platoon was drilled to exacting specifications and ready to fight.

  “How
do you want to play this, Lieutenant?” his platoon sergeant asked, a man with fifteen years of continuous service to his name.

  “Deploy smoke and concussion grenades, followed by a frontal assault. We’re three sections from our objective… the time for anything but a direct attack has passed.”

  “I concur, sir.”

  Travere smirked. “Good. I wasn’t giving a suggestion.”

  “Grenades out!” a private yelled. Exactly five seconds later, there was a series of muffled explosions, coupled with a flash of bright white light. Colored smoke billowed down the passageway, making it nearly impossible to see anything with unaugmented visual aids.

  “Engage infrared vision,” Travere ordered. A moment later, the view through his helmet visor changed; bright red human-shaped figures were clearly visible. He brought up his plasma rifle and held down the trigger. Globs of superheated energy erupted from it, shredding several defenders. It’s a pity the political commissars don’t allow more than one of these weapons per platoon. Joined by a surge of fire from the fireteams moving up the corridor, they swept it clean of Terrans. One by one, the red outlines faded from view. “Weapons check, reload!”

  The squads paused momentarily, dropping spent and half-empty magazines from their projectile-based weaponry and slapping in new ones. A few seconds passed before the platoon sergeant nodded. “Good to go, Lieutenant.”

  Only one blocking force remains between us and their precious anti-matter reactor. Travere’s eyes swept over the plasma rifle as he ensured it was fully charged. There were days he wished he was back on Earth, working the vineyard. But on a day like today, he was proud to serve—the sharp end of the spear. Grandfather would be proud if he were alive to see it. Jean-Marc Travere had served on one of the ships in the initial invasion fleet thirty years ago. “Move out, Marines!”

  Their objective was a good fifty meters away. The fireteams moved as one; they flowed through the passageway like a flood. As they closed in, a group of CDF enlisted personnel jumped out of a compartment and attacked. Armor-piercing bullets ripped through the League formation, knocking suits of power armor over like bowling pins.