Back home, the engineers were working on making all of this obsolete, replacing it with drones piloted at long-range. There was a logic, there, of course. Fighters had only ever been a stop-gap measure, a means for the Confederation to put up combat vessels while they built the rest of their fleet; the original designs were no more than orbital transfer vehicles with missile racks bolted on. Still, it would be a sad day when the last fighter squadron stood down.
Five minutes to go, and Marshall tried to focus himself on his goal once again. The enemy fighters were trying to move into position to sweep past them, cutting the firing window down to a minimum in order to focus on their goal. Not that he trusted them to take the obvious course; so far, the enemy commander had employed a masterful level of trickery in his tactics. Still, if he didn’t knock down the reinforcement shuttles, the battle on the asteroid would be over. Perhaps this time he would opt for the more obvious course of action.
The scouts were slowly moving up behind them, their countermeasures already working to shield the fighters from incoming missiles. Idly, Marshall started to type out a new interception vector, and his face dropped. The scouts were moving into the perfect position for the enemy fighters to launch an attack run, and if they were knocked out, a large part of his fleet’s combat potential would be knocked out.
He looked up at the systems again, checking his fighter’s course. He had twenty seconds to decide whether to leave the course as it was, or to swing around the squadron in a bid to counter what he increasingly thought was coming. It all depended on which the enemy commander thought was most important – the ground battle on the asteroid, or the battle that was to come in space. He made his decision with fifteen seconds to spare.
“Fighter Leader to all fighters. I’m sending updated course projections to your systems now. Implement them immediately. No time for discussion.” At the expected chorus of complaints, he said, “Do it! That’s an order, damn it!”
As the fighters began to swing around, Caine said, “What are you doing, Danny! Those shuttles don’t have a chance.”
“They aren’t after the shuttles, they’re after the scouts, and they almost pulled us right into the trap.” He looked at the sensor display for a second, worried that they might have decided to change course at the last moment, then breathed a sigh of relief as the enemy formation moved on the new course, almost exactly as he had calculated.
“How the hell did you know, Danny?” Caine asked.
“I didn’t. Not until the last second. Everything this bastard has done has been to lure us into a trap. He never takes the obvious move. Normally that’s one hell of a strength, unless you start to expect it.”
“And if he’d been pulling a double bluff?”
“Let’s all just be very happy that isn’t happening.”
Cunningham’s voice broke into the conversation, “Thanks for the assist, Danny. We’ve got a salvo ready to fire, and the battlecruisers are moving into position to cover the auxiliaries in case the fighters are on a suicide run.”
“Estimate one minute to firing, now,” Marshall said. “Make each shot tell.”
He brought the walls back into existence with a flick of his hand, concentrating his attention on his instruments. The outside universe didn’t matter any more; all that remained was him and his target, and his sensors as they started to hunt for missile lock. His opponent might not be changing his course, but he was certainly interested enough in him, and their two computers started to fight a war of their own, one seeking target lock, the other attempting to evade with all the means at his disposal.
Marshall tapped a series of controls, sending his fighter ducking and weaving as if dodging invisible punches. He didn’t expect to be fired upon today, but anything might help should a warhead come his way. An amber light flashed on, and he smiled. His computer was winning the battle, and firing range was imminent. He’d have to fire as soon as his ship pulled into range, no time now for caution. Nine seconds to go, and twelve seconds later, the enemy would be able to take a shot at the Wyvern. If, of course, he was still alive to take it.
The fighter ahead was moving itself now, twisting around, trying to throw off the relentless targeting computer, but the pilot ran out of time; Marshall tapped a control, and his first missile raced off towards its target. Within less than a second, the enemy fighter stopped maneuvering, cutting its engines, and another object appeared on the display as the pilot ejected, rather than remaining with his doomed craft.
All around, the two squadrons met, the enemy forces struggling to react in time. Half a dozen missiles were in the air, some of them lazily making the attempt to reach the scouts, but their tactical officers were more than up to the task of knocking them down, a series of brief flashes heralding their demise.
He hunted around, spotting another fighter moving away, turning to perhaps have one last try at the shuttles after all, but he had a narrow window of opportunity that he used to the full, his second missile racing away towards the target. His armament exhausted, he looked around at the rapidly dwindling number of ships in the area, the enemy forces pulling away or surrendering, all but two of his own fighters still in the air. With a sigh of relief, he saw the last of them moving out of threat radius, and tapped a control on his panel.
“Marshall here. Good work, everyone. Time to go home. Dragomirov, you hang around for a while and help vector in the search and rescue shuttles.”
“Roger, skipper. Nice flying.”
“Two more for the scorecard,” he said, sitting back in his couch as the computer began to spin the ship, taking him back to the tender. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. If he hadn’t seen what the enemy commander was planning, he’d have had a ringside seat to a massacre; the scouts would have been overwhelmed.
“Esposito to Marshall,” a voice crackled over his speaker. “Thanks for the assist. We’re going in now for the party. Wish us luck.”
“Give them hell, Gabi,” he replied. For the moment, his job was over. Hers was just beginning.
Chapter 22
Cooper waited at the airlock, checking over his equipment for the hundredth time, looking around at the wary squad that surrounded him. He glanced at his watch, shaking his head. All of this was taking too long. His platoon was spread out across half a mile of tunnel and compartment, in a position that would be ideal for them to be surrounded and defeated in detail. The few snatches of communication from the other platoons that he had picked up weren’t filling him with confidence either; from what he could see, they were managing to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
“Come on, come on,” he said to no-one in particular, his squad looking at each other, picking up his nervousness. He had to watch that; these people were going to take their cues from him, and he forced a smile. “Not that we need anyone’s help to win this battle, right?”
“Hell no, sir,” Mason said. “Why don’t we go and start the party without them?”
“We invited them, Corporal,” he replied. “It’d be rude to take all the fun for ourselves.”
Finally, with a loud clang, one of the shuttles made contact with the airlock, and the doors slammed open, emergency overrides at work. Waiting at the threshold was Lieutenant Esposito, who snapped a quick salute at Cooper as she drifted past.
“Report, Ensign, and make it quick.”
Returning her salute, he replied, “We hold the airlock corridor, and there are guard points between here and the communications suite. The enemy has been holding back a little for the past quarter-hour, but I think they are building up for an assault.”
“Numbers?”
“Unknown, but heavy.”
“Then we won’t wait.” Turning to the rear, she said, “Forrest, get the men moving right now. A fire team to anchor the end of the corridor until the reserves arrive, and the rest with me. We’re going to the communications station. Have the
rest of the company follow up and start hitting anything that moves.”
“Right, ma’am,” the sergeant said, flashing a smile at Cooper. “Having fun over here, boss?”
“Don’t worry, we saved plenty of bad guys for you.”
“You and your team still ready for some action, Ensign?” Esposito asked.
“Always, ma’am.”
“Then let’s get this done.”
Cooper managed to push out in front, leading the way with his squad behind him; as he had expected, Forrest moved with them, shouting orders to his troops as he went, Esposito taking up the rear as the shuttle undocked, its passengers already on their way to the front. Cooper frowned as he saw it leave, and Forrest shook his head.
“You don’t know what you started here,” he said. “They’re heading up to pick up First Platoon. Captain Marshall’s going to throw everything down here until they crack.”
As if on silent cue, a fusillade of shots sounded from up the corridor, an attack on the fire team holding the shaft. Cooper pushed off the now-familiar walls, his hands finding points to push off as he moved out ahead of the rest of his squad, struggling to catch up. Only Forrest was able to keep pace, experience telling as he pulled his rifle out.
“Just like old times, sir,” he said.
“I hope not, Sergeant,” Cooper replied. “I’ve no desire to go through all of that again.”
“You and me both!”
Turning a corner, Forrest and Cooper saw one of his men tumbling in the air, clutching at his chest in obvious distress, blood seeping through his fingers into the air. Beyond him, a group of Cabal soldiers were moving in, and the two troopers fired as one to break them up, their shots carefully placed to send them scurrying for cover. A pair of shots flew towards them, ricocheting from the wall, but they pressed their attack, sending one of them spinning into the wall with a bone-breaking crack, the others rushing away.
Moving in, Cooper saw the other member of the team he’d left behind, a glassy-eyed stare on her face, and he reached down to close her eyes with his hand, looking up at Forrest. A medic moved in to treat the survivor, and started to push him back down the corridor towards the shuttles, a grim look on his face.
“Hold it together, son,” Forrest said as Esposito moved forward.
“When all this is over…,” he replied, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s get moving.”
“No guards,” Esposito said as she pushed down the corridor. “Leave that for the follow-up. Carstairs, take three men and head after those devils down there. Cooper, Forrest, with me. I hope you remember where you are going, Ensign.”
“If we don’t hurry,” Cooper said, pushing down the shaft without waiting for orders, “we can follow the trail of corpses. Move it, people!”
Forrest and Mason were hard on his heels as he swept towards the next team, hoping that they had fared better than the first. Instead of slowing himself as he reached the bottom, he increased his speed, swinging out into the corridor with his rifle ready and his finger on the trigger, right into a group of incoming Cabal soldiers. Instinct took over as he found himself on a collision course, taking advantage of their brief moment of hesitation to fire a pair of well-aimed rounds, before one of them took a shot back that brushed against his armor, sending him off to the side and into the wall.
The resultant impact knocked the wind out of him, and his sweaty fingers failed to grab the handhold that would have kept him in cover, sending him tumbling out of control into the firing line. Before the enemy soldiers could take the shots that would have killed him, his squad swept in from the shaft, sending precisely-aimed covering fire towards the Cabal group, sending them scurrying into cover. Taking the opportunity, Cooper shot one in the side as he tried to move to another firing position, sending his body drifting away down the corridor.
“Having fun, Ensign?” Forrest asked, reaching out with a strong arm to tug him back in.
“Thanks for the assist,” he said. Pushing down past the arriving forces, he drifted back to the fire team he’d left behind, two wounded men hiding behind a tumbling collection of crates. “Don’t worry, the reinforcements are here. You’ll be in a sickbay in half an hour, just hang on.”
“Cooper,” Esposito said, “Third Platoon just got in touch. They’re under heavy attack, worse than up here, and their forward defenses are crumbling. If we don’t go down there now we won’t have anyone left to link up with.” Gesturing back, she said, “The First and Third of the Ninth are on their way down here now. Take two squads, and go hit those bastards from the rear.”
“Will do, Lieutenant,” he replied. “My squad, Forrest’s squad, with me!” He tried to recall the reports from his scouts as he dived down one of the side passages, heading for the linking shaft. He turned to his thrown-together command, and said, “Speed and silence, people. We don’t want to set up any chance of a counter-attack. We go in quick, and once we make contact, smash them to bits. Clear.”
“Clear, sir,” Forrest said.
“Good.” Doctrine called for the senior NCO to take the rear, but that would leave his best shot as the last one into the firefight. “Sergeant, you’re with me at point. Mason, take the rear and watch for stragglers. No defensive positions, no fall back points, we push on to the objective. Move.”
Without waiting for the rest, not even for Forrest, he pushed down the new shaft, cautiously building up speed, turning his helmet light down low. As he drifted, he swung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled out his knife, the veteran by his side nodding approvingly and doing the same. A smile crept across his face; out dozens of light-years from Sol, with plasma weapons all over the place, and he was about to get into a knife-fight that a Roman centurion would have been at home with.
As he expected, there were a pair of guards at the bottom, both of which paid for their inattentiveness with their lives as he and Forrest pushed in with their daggers raised, quick slashes across their throats ending any chance of them raising the alarm. One of the troopers following him looked from the dead guard to Cooper, shock on his face.
Shaking his head, Cooper placed his knife back in its sheath, and started off down the corridor, pausing for a second at the intersection to look left and right. Already he could hear the sounds of battle echoing through the walls, a very good thing if it served to help cover their advance. His rifle back in his hands, he pushed down towards where he hoped Third Platoon was, his men following.
The gunfire increasing in volume as they approached, and Cooper slowed slightly to drift besides Forrest, whispering, “We’ll be in contact in a minute.”
“Probably.”
“We need some tactical coordination in all of this. You press home the attack and keep them pinned, I’ll go through and make contact with Third Platoon, draw them back in the other direction.”
“Are you doing the damn stupid thing I think you are going to do?”
“Probably.”
“Let me…”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “This is my job. Yours is to get these people into combat. Make as much noise as you can, and with a little luck, I should drift right through.”
With a sigh, Forrest replied, “It’s taken me a long time to break you in, Ensign. I’d hate to have to go through all of that again. Be careful.”
“Aren’t I always?”
Without a glance behind, he pushed off down the corridor, swooping around into the middle of a cluster of surprised Cabal soldiers, hanging just behind the lines. Before they could react, he’d pushed on, well past them before they even picked up their weapons, and was around another corner.
Instantly, a bullet cracked past him, obviously fired by a Triplanetary trooper; four Cabal soldiers were in between Cooper and his goal, and he dived head-long into them, raising his rifle to shoot behind him as he pushed through, firing blind to scatter them. The trooper ahead line
d up for a shot, his mouth wide in panic.
“Don’t shoot, damn it, I’m on your side!” Cooper yelled. “What’s the situation back here?”
As he turned himself around, pushing the two of them into cover, the trooper gabbled, “The Sergeant and the Ensign are dead, sir. I think Corporal Chester has a command post back there. I was left to hold the line while we regrouped.” A shot cracked over the heads, and Cooper said, “Right. Hold out here just a little longer, Private. Help is on the way.”
Looking up like a trapped animal, he replied, “I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Keep low, fire pinning shots, and watch your aim. I’ve got men moving up and the last thing we need right now is friendly fire. You read me?”
“I do, sir.”
Tapping the scared trooper on the shoulder, he pushed off down the corridor, listening to the strengthening sound of gunfire to the rear; evidently Forrest had begun his assault, hitting multiple positions at once. That would hold them for a few minutes, but what happened to this platoon would happen again if he couldn’t get them moving.
He drifted into a large chamber, a dozen wounded troopers strapped to the wall with a medic moving between them, a pair of NCOs floating in the middle of the room arguing over a datapad.
“Don’t you salute officers in Third Platoon?” Cooper snapped as he drifted in.
The Corporal looked up with a sneer, and said, “Where the hell have you been?”
“Fighting my way through the lines to rescue you. How many effectives have you got left?”
“Nine, I think.”
“You think? Are they all spread out like that trooper back there?”
Shaking his head, the Corporal said, “Back in the other room. We were planning to head for an airlock, try and get away on the outside of the asteroid. We’ve lost this ground.”
“Not yet we haven’t,” Cooper replied. Peering in the indicated direction, he saw five men looking around, two of them with hastily-applied bandages on their arms, and said, “Anyone who wants to live through this nightmare comes with me. The rest of you can stay here and die.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Take and Hold Page 19