Several rooms, quarters from the looks of it, had been opened and were in use as triage centres. Many of the patients had been placed in stasis. Some were fresh from the fight, with limbs missing or holes through both sides of their armour. Whatever the people holding the bridge were firing, it cut through their armour like it wasn't there at all. Cumberland couldn’t help but recall the mental image of the nafalli they’d met who killed several of his people while wielding a nanoblade.
He made the mistake of locking eyes with a man as he was being rushed into the middle room. He was in indescribable agony as something that had burned through his armour continued to flare through the hole. "It's an aluminothermic reaction! We've got to isolate it so it doesn't burn straight through his hip!" called out one of the medics.
The man was twitching in pain so severe his screams were interrupted by convulsions. His gaze was desperate, piercing, and something Cumberland would see in his dreams. As the stretcher was placed down on a cot and the doctor stepped in with an instrument that looked like a hollow coring tool, he flinched his gaze away and cleared his throat. "Let's get to it boys."
"Sir, I have to lodge a formal protest," declared a voice from behind.
"Go ahead, but if you fall out I'll have to shoot you."
"That's well and good sir, but these people are better armed, know the terrain and have the overall high ground. We should consult with Command before moving forward."
"Your complaint has been recorded, it'll show up on Commander DeHansen's screen."
"I don't feel that I've been properly addressed. I want a response before-"
"Commander DeHansen is running this deck. If he says we move up and help him finish this, then we do. He can choose to address your complaint before, during or after we're engaged." A sudden rush of air was a sure sign that an explosive had detonated ahead. Major Cumberland wasn't looking forward to entering the fray either, but if they could take the bridge, it might finally give them the upper hand on the ship. "Now get in line and get ready or I’ll send you back up to deck twenty one. I hear Command is looking for someone to lead the suicide mission up there."
The rear guard was two squads deep, thirty soldiers. Once they were past them the halls were eerily quiet, and with no illumination other than their reticule sensors and the beams of their personal lights, the open doors were like mysterious cavities, collecting shadows. Cumberland's wrist computer told him the quarters on the command deck were spacious, most likely for the upper ranks. Glimpses inside revealed upturned furniture, personal items left on the floor, and a general desecration of living spaces. No wonder they're taking it personally. This has the feel of a long tour ship. They probably consider this ship their home, may have for a long time. I'd be pissed too. Flashing light ahead told him that they were coming up to one of the front line battles. It was too soon. The broad, curving hall had guided them in the right direction, but last Cumberland checked, the status said that they had made more progress. It said they had reached the bridge proper. The sensor data he downloaded from the Commander’s terminal told him a different story.
He ran forward until he could see combat, his soldiers were close behind. On the deck behind the bottlenecked troops was evidence of demolished barrier materials. They had been driven back at least twenty meters, and the enemy was laying firepower on thick. The injured and dead were piling up behind as medics rushed to get the most treatable cases onto stretchers and back to their temporary infirmary.
Major Cumberland stopped and looked at a fresh schematic of the command deck on his hand scanner. There was another battle raging on beneath their feet, on the lower level of the command deck. "Commander DeHansen. We're moving to the lower deck, there's no opportunity to engage on this level," Major Cumberland announced.
"I hear you. Proceed."
Cumberland turned and started running back the way they came. If the command crew of the Triton were able to hold the main deck and press the assault back, then there wouldn't be much chance of that fight resolving in their favour. From the schematic in his hand the two levels of the main bridge were connected, however, and the assault on the lower deck was going much better. They were at the doors.
When the express car opened, they were greeted with the sight of a heavy bulkhead door that had been cut through. It was no less than a metre thick. He'd never seen anything like it outside of a vault or primary hull plate.
"Must have taken them all day to cut through," muttered one of the privates behind him as they stepped inside.
"Keep your eyes on your targeting reticule. The report marking this level clear may have been a little off," Major Cumberland ordered as the rest of the data on the encounters for the area scrolled by.
"I'm just glad we weren't the first to clear the administration and conference rooms up top. Seems that those cushy quarters end just a few meters up from where we were and there were traps all over."
"Can it, Spence. Hustle up." Major Cumberland said as he watched the last of his people step through the narrow hole in the bulkhead door. The instant both her feet were on the deck he broke into a run.
Major Cumberland kept one eye on the gradual curve of the hall through his targeting reticule and the other on the hand scanner. It told him everything his raw senses and basic sensors couldn't. Twenty meters in he started seeing bodies.
Some of the doors on the lower command deck had been sealed shut with quick weld tape, others had been battered through, some from the inside, some from the outside. Some of the more scrappy conscripts who he'd run into under the command of the issyrian were represented amongst the ruined bodies. A few of the corpses were dressed in the foreboding skull marked armour of the security teams that were scattered across the ship, the proper defenders.
I've never seen a crew so unwilling to surrender. These conscripts fought as hard as the properly uniformed soldiers. There had been a slaughter, and as he closed the distance between himself and active fire fighting he slowed to look before leaping. One of his people, an abandoner of the upper deck who had just joined, ran a few steps past him, jarring his shoulder. "Watch it!" he called out. "Actually, now that you're up there, you take point," he said with a smile that was more like a grimace as he looked into the darkness ahead. Just around the corner there were barricades. He could barely see them.
"Yes sir," replied the Private, raising his rifle and moving ahead slowly. Carefully placing one boot down one after the other between the mixture of corpses.
"What kind of fire fight does this? I mean, how are they so close together?" asked another one of his late joiners. His voice was thready, near panic.
He didn't care to help. "A close fight does this, one where half the people are using blades," he replied.
"No one does that. Look! Most of these ones are sliced and diced! I mean, what kind of a fight is that?" He poked a fallen soldier's helmet with his boot and cringed backwards as it rolled to reveal the trooper's head was still inside.
"Get it together!"
The point man stopped in his tracks, lowering his rifle as they came around a more extreme bend. "No way. There's no way. I'm not going in there."
Major Cumberland rushed up behind him and peeked around his shoulder. "Then don't move." He said as he looked at the scene ahead on his hand scanner.
The barriers had breached, or a few of the enemy had found a way around. He couldn't tell. Ahead was a melee. For a moment it looked as though his men were fighting each other, but then he realized they were trying to line up invisible targets. Whoever was assailing them managed to get into their midst in cloaksuits, most likely not many of them, but they were in the middle of fifty or more soldiers.
Cumberland tried to use the sonic detector on the hand scanner, but the enemy was so close to his allies that they were impossible to tell apart. He thought he saw one of the invisible defenders appear on his screen, but he was running so fast, and closed to within striking distance of the men ahead so efficiently that the signal was immediately
indistinguishable.
He looked up from his scanner, stuffing it into his only remaining front pocket, and just watched the fray for a moment. As one soldier found himself gutted by whatever ultra thin blade the defenders used at close range, another tried to fire in the assailant's direction. Others flailed about, trying to strike their invisible prey as they came near with the butts of their rifles. Still more attempted to back away, get themselves anchored to a wall so they wouldn't be struck from behind.
"Oh my God," uttered Private Spence.
"What's wrong Major? Press ahead! We'll take them down there if we can get enough people in the hall! Don't give them room to move!" shouted Commander DeHansen through the command comm.
“Just trying to find the advantage,” Cumberland replied.
“I said get in-“
“Let me think! I’m not wasting my people, I’ve lost enough today!” He flicked his visor open, overtaken by the need to breathe air that wasn’t recycled inside his suit. The idea struck him then, and he hoped it would work. Cumberland pulled the bladder that carried his water off and tossed it on the ground in front of him. He set his rifle to emit only heat in a wide beam, focused the weapon on the large pouch and fired.
The water came to a boil in less than twenty seconds and the drinking tube came loose, filling the hall ahead with steam.
"There!" Screeched Private Baram. She was one of his best soldiers, and a good shot as she demonstrated as she opened fire on the shape in the steam. The figure took several direct hits before disappearing further down the hall.
"Gimmie a minute, I'll rig a few charges." Spence said from behind. He hurriedly crouched down and cut a fallen soldier's water sac loose, careful not to puncture it.
"Everyone, hurry, before we lose the steam," Major Cumberland said as he took the bladder from the soldier who had once been put in point position.
He had proven even more useless after seeing the shape in the steam, and was actually cowering. "They're invisible? They can be anywhere!" he quivered.
Cumberland tossed the bag down a meter away and heated it to boiling like the last. The tube attachment was too new, however, and it simply expanded. He flicked it with his boot and the piping burst. The hall started to fill with steam all around them, the humidity was almost welcome, he'd been sealed in his armour for so long.
"Sarge!" Called Baram.
He turned just in time to see a shape lunging towards him. His rifle butt came up to deflect the incoming blade. The reaction was purely instinct, there was no time for thought. He could barely make out the shape of his attacker, but before he completely lost him he swept for where he thought his legs ought to be. A disturbance in the steam told him that his assailant had fallen and three of his people fired on the empty space.
After a few seconds of constant fire the familiar uniform of the defenders appeared, silver skull marked on the left side of her chest with the word Triton written where the death head's teeth would be. The woman's uniform had breached, and she'd taken several direct hits to the chest and stomach. The blade she'd intended to use rolled out of her hand and the blackened visor covering her hooded face swept upward.
Breathing was a gurgling labour for the young woman as she looked Cumberland in the eye. Her mouth worked to say something and he bent down, wary of a trick. "N-never surrender," she managed. A fierceness came over her, as though her pale blue eyes were set ablaze for a moment as she wheezed; "Triton!"
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, as though she was gripped by a series of failed, retching coughs before her eyes stared somewhere past him and glazed over. These people, this ship. It all measures up to the legend of Earth, to their tenacity and loyalty. No wonder it has cost us so many. But out here? How did they end up so far away from the Sol System? He thought. If the intelligence they've given us is right, and this is a stolen vessel, then it's got to be in the water. Then again, maybe it is Valance. The hero of Enreega. Major Cumberland straightened and looked around. The steam was dissipating, his people were frozen to the spot, waiting with water bladders in hand for an order. He could almost see the morale draining out of them by the second. "Pass the word, their suits can't compensate for water vapour," he ordered as he slapped his visor closed.
Two more bags were thrown between Major Cumberland and the melee as they closed the distance. They caught sight of at least two retreating forms as they rushed to join the main fight, where steam filled the air. They were fighting shadows in the mist.
They joined the main fray in time to glimpse disturbances in the air, retreating shadows that moved too fast or were too well shielded to be caught by the few rounds that struck them. There were twenty nine soldiers left from a group of over fifty just some minutes ago, and listening to the chatter, looking at the tactical feed, he knew there were no more reinforcements to be had. He was the ranking officer on that deck, and there was a decision to be made, one that could cost everyone their lives, or win the engagement outright. He took one of the improvised steam grenades, really only an adjusted thermal grenade strapped to a water sac, and tossed it into the hole blown through the main entrance to the lower bridge. A few seconds later it had heated the bag and steam burst through the improvised door.
"Forward!" He barked harshly.
The soldiers who had been stationed there, weary as they were, seemed reinvigorated and reassured at the very thought that if someone were coming through that door in a cloaksuit, they would be able to see an indication of it in the thick steam. The instant they came around the corner they opened fire.
"Avoid shooting the consoles!" Major Cumberland shouted as what was left of the second incursion unit rushed the door.
Several enemy crewmen were shot down in the first few seconds, but by the time Cumberland and Spence stepped into the breach and tossed two more steam charges, they had the whole room lit up with pulse rounds. It was cover fire for the most part, but as the pair of grenades went off further into the flight deck, they found targets. There were people in cloaksuits diving for cover. The flashing light and steam revealed their movement through it on their targeting reticule’s thermal sensors as well as to the naked eye.
The word had been passed along to the upper deck, and steam was beginning to roll in from the entrance above, the flashing lights and mist made for an eerie scene that was soon grisly. As they felled several enemy troops, they too lost people.
Major Cumberland barely had time to raise an arm as he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He was nearly knocked senseless by a fist as hard as granite and as unyielding as a bulkhead door. His helmet cracked, his cheek mashed into his teeth, drawing blood, and he was driven to his knees.
His rifle was ripped out of his hands and he was dragged backwards, into the hallway where the steam was dissipating. In a desperate move he drew his service pistol and fired over his shoulder as fast as he could. A great shadow appeared overhead, only this time it was real, tangible. His opponent staggered back. His armour was almost as impressive as the man. Flexible horizontal bands of metal covered him from head to toe, maintaining some kind of failing shield that made the edges of the emitters glow red. The man wearing it was massive for a human. Thick arms, legs that were like pillars, shoulders that could carry two grown men and a height over two meters. His hood withdrew into the armour's shoulders to reveal a fair haired man with a broad face and strong jaw. He was smiling, despite the trickle of blood escaping from the corner of his mouth.
With the last of his strength he slowly raised an arm with six slashes on its cuff and pointed at Cumberland. "What are you fighting for?" he asked between laboured breaths.
Cumberland didn't have a ready answer, not one he'd present to a dying man. “Duty,” was the only word he could offer, and it felt weak in the air between them.
"My crew, my home," the man laboured. His chest heaved, filling the hall with the sounds of his gurgling. He was drowning in his own blood.
Cumberland set his sidearm to its highest setting, and by the ti
me he levelled it at the opposing soldier's head his breathing had stopped. He was dead.
The sounds of the fire fight on the bridge quieted. It was over.
"Any prisoners?" he asked over the comm.
"None. They wouldn't surrender."
He didn't say it aloud, he wouldn't dare, but he couldn't help but think that the wrong people had won. Major Cumberland leaned forward and gently closed his enemies’ eyes, taking note of the name written on the inside of his collar, McPatrick.
Chapter 25
Patrizia Salustri
By the time Ayan, Laura, Victor and Jenny were outside the makeshift warehouse there was a heavy hulled, pristine black shuttle waiting for them in the small courtyard. None of them had heard it land. A man in a stiff grey business suit and knee length white coat waited beside the side hatch. When they drew near he bowed and gestured them inside. Ayan couldn’t help but notice there was a severe looking stun discharger up his coat sleeve.
The interior could only be described as luxurious. It was tall enough for everyone to stand full height, but no one would want to. The seating inside was well cushioned, set in a long oval and made for casual conversation. The greeter didn’t join them, but closed the door from the outside. As soon as the hatch closed the environment system cleaned the air, scrubbing it free of the grease and trash odours of the open air landing fields.
“Never been in anything like this before,” Victor muttered, trying to get comfortable on seating that was meant for softer passengers. The body armour just seemed to get in the way no matter what he did.
Jenny’s solution was more demure. Instead of trying to lay back and get comfortable, she sat up straight with her hands on her knees. “Nope, can’t say I’ve ever known people rich enough to have one. The Clever Dream is pretty close though, as far as creature comforts go.”
As much as Ayan wanted to lounge, her focus was on something else. “So, what do you know about Patrizia Salustri, Vic?”
Spinward Fringe Broadcast 6: Fragments Page 24