Starfighter (Strike Commander Book 1)

by Richard Tongue

   “Any last words?” she asked.

   “No…,” Hansen replied, wide-eyed. “No.

   “Don't do it, ma'am,” Finch said, stepping between them. “Don't give her the satisfaction.”

   “Get out of my way, Sub-Lieutenant.”

   “She's got to face a court-martial. For everyone's sake, ma'am, especially the dead.”

   “Get out of my way.”

   “No, ma'am, I won't.” His hands were trembling, and she looked at him, before taking a deep breath, and shaking her head.

   “Give me a hand with this console,” she said, turning to one of the technicians. “Araki, Nakadai, kindly get these people out of my sight.”

   “Yes, ma'am,” Nakadai said, reverently picking up Corwin's pistol as he shepherded the captives out of the room, Hansen nervously looking at Mallory as she left. Ignoring the wounded traitor, she sat down at the communications panel, Finch next to her, sweeping through the frequencies to try and contact the incoming shuttle. She glanced at her watch, and shook her head. It had been less than five minutes since she'd spoken to Conway. Five minutes, and as many people had died, some of them at her hand.

   “Mallory to Churchill Shuttle, come in please.”

   A rough female voice replied, “Shuttle One receiving. We're biting into the upper atmosphere now. What's the situation down there?”

   “Desperate and worsening,” she replied. “Make for Landing Pad Two. I'll arrange as friendly a reception as I can manage in the circumstances. Assume immediate combat upon arrival.”

   “That's not my idea of a friendly welcome,” the pilot said. “Message received. I'll pass that to Ensign Morgan.” There was a pause, and she replied, “You Jack's ex?”

   “Senior Lieutenant Mallory,” she answered.

   “We'll have to trade stories at some point. Shuttle out.”

   Glancing at her, Finch said, “These reinforcements...”

   “Don't, Sub-Lieutenant,” she replied, raising her hand. “Just don't.” Stepping away from the console, she added, “We can't hold this room, not and try and retake the station as well.” Raising her pistol to the primary distribution box, she fired twice, sparks flying as the panel died, all the monitors fading to black. “Let's go.”

   She led the group down the corridor, curving around towards the landing pads. A roar sounded overhead, and she looked out of the view-port to see a heavy shuttle struggling to orbit. Something had Blake worried, enough to pull out the artifacts ahead of schedule. Glancing at Finch, she doubled her pace, almost walking into a group of rebel technicians milling down the corridor.

   One shot sent them fleeing in panic, scattering in all directions, and the remains of her group sprinted towards their destination. As they jogged along the corridor, she looked around, waiting for the attack to come. They were wide open to an ambush, had neither the time nor the training to prepare for it, but there was no sign of trouble, no one preventing them reaching the landing pad.

   “This is too easy,” Finch said, echoing her thoughts.

   “Let's take the win, Sub-Lieutenant,” she replied, masking her growing fear. There was something wrong, something she'd missed, and she couldn't work out what it was. Moving to a sprint, she reached the airlock in time to watch the shuttle roar down, firing its thrusters to bring it into a smooth landing, the docking collar retracting to meet it.

   Turning to the corridor, she looked for any sign of trouble, but none came. A rattle of gunfire echoed through the air, the scream of a dying crewman, and Araki raced towards her, raising his hands as he saw her pistol.

   “Don't shoot!” he said.

   “Report, Spaceman,” she replied.

   “They tried to take Sickbay, but we managed to push them back, but we lost one of the prisoners along they way.”

   “Hanson?” Finch asked.

   “No, sir. She's under sedation. Doc Strickland took a look at her, says she'll be fine with a little light treatment.”

   “Good,” Mallory replied. “She's got a date with a firing squad, as soon as we get back to Mars.” A series of green lights flashed, and the airlock door opened, a thin, wiry woman emerging in old-style combat gear, a rifle in her hands, the insignia of an Ensign in the Triplanetary Espatier Corps pinned to her shoulders. “Morgan, I presume.”

   “You must be Senior Lieutenant Mallory,” she replied. “I've heard a lot about you.”

   “I can only guess. Word around here was that you're responsible for the massacre of your crew at Karnak Station.” The blast of a smoke grenade detonating roared behind her, and she added, “I no longer subscribe to that theory, if it helps.”

   A tall, burly woman stepped out after her, saying, “Nicky, we're ready to move out on your word.” Looking up at Mallory, she said, “Kat, eh? You don't look like I expected.”

   “Who…,” she began, shaking her head. “Never mind. We can do the introductions some other time.” Glancing down the corridors, she said, “There's something going on. A cargo shuttle took off less than two minutes ago, and I think they took out the artifacts.”

   “Damn,” Morgan said. “We've got to get them back.” Turning to Finch, she added, “Records, do you have records? Something I can transmit to Churchill? Even if we lose everyone on the base, we've got to get them to safety.”

   “What's so important?”

   “I don't know,” she replied, “and that's the truth. Except that whatever it is, someone has decided it's worth killing for.”

   A pair of technicians, both of them wearing the shoulder flash of Gorgon, stepped around the corner, realizing their mistake a second too late. One of them, more ruthless than the other, pushed his companion towards Mallory, sprinting to safety as the tall woman raced towards her, pinning her to the deck with fluid ease.

   “How many pieces, Nicky?” she asked.

   “That depends on how co-operative this gentleman is willing to be,” she replied. “What do you say, Spaceman?”

   “Phillipe,” he screamed. “That bastard left me to die!”

   “Die?” Mallory asked.

   He looked up at her, fury and fear in his eyes, and said, “My information's worth my life. You've got a way off this rock, and I want a ticket. Give me that, and I'll tell you what I know.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “How did a maggot like you get into the Fleet?”

   “Fleet?” he replied, barking with laughter. “I'm a computer-tech, not one of you grunts. They aren't paying me enough for this.” Gesturing at his uniform, he added, “This is just a costume.”

   Looking at Morgan, Mallory said, “Fine. You'll stand trial, but I'll get you off this planet on the next shuttle. What's your information?”

   “They're going to destroy the base,” he said. “I don't know exactly how long we've got, but I do know the last shuttle over at Operations is taking off in ten minutes, and we were all meant to be out of here before then.” Coughing as he struggled to free himself, he added, “I doubt they'll wait much longer than that.”

   “How many shuttles have you got?” Mallory asked, Morgan shaking her head.

   “Just the one,” she replied.

   “Wonderful.” Leveling her pistol at the technician, she asked, “The bomb. Where?”

   “Somewhere in the middle of the station. Three missile warheads, set for maximum yield. I was on the shuttle that brought them down.” With a fierce grin, he added, “That was worth a few credits, but I don't think there's much chance I'll collect them now. I'm in the market for a better offer.”

   Turning to Araki, she said, “Take him into the shuttle.”

   “Ten minutes,” Finch said, shaking his head. “That's nowhere near enough time.”

   “It is, if we move quickly,” she replied, racing for the corridor junction. She peered around a corner, smiling at the absence of guards. They were being evacuated along with everyone else. Morgan and
her friend followed her as she raced towards the central core, the beating heart of the base, and tapped in her override code at the door, the mechanism opening an inch before jamming. Morgan slid in beside her, jamming a datarod into the control circuit, fumbling with her datapad as Mallory urged her on.

   “Top of the class in combat hacking,” she said with a smile. “Just give me a minute.”

   “How did you end up on Churchill?” Mallory asked.

   “Only port in a storm,” she replied, as the door slid open. They sprinted inside, the three warheads stacked next to each other in the middle of the room, crudely wired together. Her eyes widened as she saw the programmed yield, three-kilotons apiece. One of them would serve to smash the station to pieces. Three of them was overkill.

   “Thirteen minutes, ten seconds,” Morgan said, glancing at the readouts. “I can't deactivate them, but I might be able to set up a relay.” She tossed her communicator to Mallory, before ducking underneath the components, reaching into the heart of the tangled mess.

   “Mallory to Churchill,” she said. “Put me through to your electronics warfare officer.”

   “That's me,” a gruff voice replied. “What do you want?”

   “I'm sitting on a nine-kiloton bomb ready to go off in thirteen minutes. I want it disarmed.”

   “Right,” he replied.

   “You've got a link,” Morgan said.

   “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the man said. “Oh, crap.”

   “You can't do it,” Mallory said, coldly.

   “They've ripped out the control circuits. Whoever did this made sure there was no way to stop it. Your base goes in thirteen minutes, five seconds.”

   “Normal shuttle?” Finch asked. At Morgan's nod, he continued, “Twelve people. Fifteen, if we push it. And forty on the base, not counting the prisoners.”

   Shaking her head, Mallory replied, “There's an answer. Fill the shuttle full, all the way, and blast for orbit. The rest of us will run for the ridge line. We should be able to make it in six minutes, and that's five meters high. Should be enough to give us a chance, anyway.”

   “You go,” Morgan said. “I've got a job to do.”

   “Don't worry about the data,” Finch said. “I dumped all our research onto a couple of datarods. I'll make sure I put them on the shuttle before I go.”

   “No,” she said. “I've got something else in mind.” She looked at Mallory, then added, “They'll try and stop you unless someone provides a diversion anyway. Get your people moving.”

   “Just under thirteen minutes,” she warned. “That doesn't leave much of a margin.”

   “I don't need one,” she replied, heading down the corridor, towards Operations. The tall woman shook her head, then looked at Finch.

   “Can you fly a shuttle?” she asked.

   “Sure,” he replied.

   “Then you get a first-class ticket out of here. I'm going with her.” Turning to Mallory, she added, “Complements of Major Jack Conway and the Free Carrier Churchill. See you later.”

   As the two of them raced away, Mallory shook her head, and said, “Let's get moving. We're out of time.” Glancing after them, she said, “And so are they.”

  Chapter 14

   Morgan sprinted along the corridor, pistol in hand, Angel just behind her. She glanced down at her watch, set to count down the minutes before the base was destroyed. There was nothing she could do to stop that from happening, but at least she could make sure that the man responsible didn't escape the justice he deserved.

   She turned around a corner into a trio of bullets, slamming into the wall behind her. She dropped to the floor and as she returned fire, she sent the two Espatiers guarding the control room scurrying for cover. Angel slid in beside her, throwing her a quick glance as she tried to line up a shot, their opponents crouching behind their riot shields, a barrier their rifles couldn't break.

   Debris littered the floor, relics of the vicious fighting that had taken place here, and she saw a body lying on the carpet, glassy eyes staring up, wearing the tattered remains of a Triplanetary uniform. She looked at his face, wondering whose side he was on, and shook her head. She shouldn't have had to wonder for a second. The uniform should have been enough to tell her that.

   “This is crazy,” Angel said, as another bullet cracked overhead.

   “Maybe,” Morgan replied, ineffectually returning fire.

   “Damn it, we can't even throw rocks at them!”

   Morgan paused, a smile spreading across her face, and she said, “Why the hell not?” Reaching for a suitable piece of debris, a long, thin tube, she hurled it through the air, screaming, “Grenade!”

   The troopers rolled to the side, and she took the opportunity to charge forward, weaving across the corridor as she made up ground, using the few seconds of inattention to gain position. A second wave of bullets stranded her at the door of an open office, unable to move so much as an inch without being shot. She grimaced, clutching her pistol, and glanced back at Angel, still nestled back in cover.

   A quick movement bought her a bullet, flying close enough to feel the air rushing past, and she froze in position, glancing down at her watch. One of their precious minutes was already gone. She didn't fear death, not today. The troopers weren't going to die here, not when they had an escape route prepared. They'd slow her down, though, long enough that she wouldn't have a chance to catch them.

   Glancing back at Angel, she saw her friend throwing something down the corridor, a flickering flame that trailed smoke. Immediately, sirens sounded, and the overhead sprinklers kicked in. The two troopers looked up, just for a second, and that was enough time for her to get into the fight, hurling herself at the short shieldwall and sending the three of them toppling to the ground, Angel racing forward to take part in the vicious melee.

   A hand reached out to her, trying to push her aside, another reaching for her throat, but she slashed out with her legs, catching her assailant in the chest and sending him reeling away. Then Angel was into the fight, knocking one of the guards out with a single blow, turning on the other who staggered to his feet and sprinted down the corridor, throwing his shield away in his haste to escape. Angel grinned in triumph, running a hand through her dripping hair.

   “Nice trick,” Morgan said.

   “Works every time,” she replied. “Let's go.”

   The door slid open onto a deserted Operations, all the control computers set to automatic. She heard the roar of a shuttle lifting off, a flash of anger crossing her face as she feared her prey had escaped her, but Angel stepped over to one of the sensor displays, tapping the controls with practiced skill.

   “It's ours, on trajectory to Churchill,” she said. “There's another one sitting on the pad.” Turning to Morgan she said, “Would he leave one of his men behind if he didn't have to?”

   “He's a vicious enough bastard for anything,” she replied, racing to the door. “This way.”

   “You sure?”

   “I memorized the blueprints before we left,” she replied, not waiting for her friend as she charged through the door, racing toward the hatches at the end of the passage. Signs of recent flight were everywhere, abandoned equipment tossed aside in the desperate bid to escape, but she grimly pressed on, determined not to let Blake escape, heedless of the risk.

   “Nine minutes,” Angel warned. “It'll take time to get to safety.”

   “You can go,” she replied. “This is my mission. You don't have to die to complete it.”

   “To hell with that,” Angel said, jogging to catch up to her.

   Side by side, the two of them ran for the hatch, Morgan stabbing the release control to open it. On the other side, a launch tube stretched out to a waiting shuttle, Blake clapping one of his people on the shoulder as he passed through the tunnel. Morgan leveled his pistol at the renegade officer, lining up her shot.

   “I thought we'd wai
ted a little too long,” he replied, turning to face her, holding his hands out. “There's more going on here than you know.”

   “I can see that,” she replied. “I'm not here to talk.”

   “Then try listening,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you think we're doing this for fun? Your friends gave their lives so that others would live, and that's exactly what they signed up for in the first place. The mission is too important to put at risk.”

   “Who are you to play God with people's lives?”

   “I'm a command-rank officer, Ensign. Sometimes it comes with the territory.” He glanced across at Angel, and said, “I don't think much of your taste in friends.”

   “Ten minutes,” Angel said. “Kill him now, and be done with it.”

   There was a noise from behind them, and a pair of guards, one of them the man who had escaped them in the corridor, stepped into position through the door, rifles raised and at the ready. Cursing her stupidity, Morgan lowered her weapon, and Blake stepped forward.

   “I'm not going to kill either of you,” he said. “You're coming with us, and I'm going to tell you what this is all about. When you understand, you'll join us. I felt the same way as you did, six months ago.”

   “Understand?” she replied. “The day my understanding takes me to a place where I'm willing to massacre fifty people, I'll take off this uniform for good.” Without warning, she dropped to the floor, her pistol swinging up as she took three quick shots, one of them catching Blake in the forehead while the others ripped through the thin skin of the docking tunnel.

   “No,” he said, dropping back, staring at her as crimson blood ran down his face. “I can't...”

   A terrible whine sounded as the atmosphere blasted out through the breach, the two troopers ignoring their dying commander to sprint through the gap towards the shuttle, it's engines building up to a roar as it started its launch sequence. Angel grabbed Morgan by the shoulder, tugging her back into the base, just as the airtight doors slammed shut behind her. She looked up at her friend, gasping for breath, holding her pistol in a death grip.