Victors

by T. R. Cameron

  Sensors in the corridor beyond showed no enemy soldiers in pursuit.

  “So, they aren’t as interested in eliminating us right now, so much as preventing us from getting anywhere useful,” Sinner said.

  “That is correct,” replied the robotic version of Pandora’s voice. “There are similar-looking rooms that I cannot see into along both main access corridors to the bridge. Also, the enemy is aware of your location, and is reinforcing adjacent compartments.”

  “Saint,” Sinner growled, “this approach is a bust. At best, we might be useful as a decoy for your assault.”

  “How long can you last?” he responded immediately.

  “If they send testing strikes, we should be fine. Right now, they seem content to wait. If that changes, though, it’s going to be a fighting retreat to the shuttle.”

  Pandora’s voice chimed in. “If you enter from a designated spot on the dorsal surface of the ship, Gunnery Sergeant St. John, I should be able to chart a concealed course to take you almost all the way to the bridge.”

  “Got it. Send the data. Saint out.”

  Sinner sighed in frustration. “Pandora, what’s our best path from here to the bridge? I don’t think being buttoned up like this is a great strategic choice.”

  “Standby, Gunnery Sergeant.” After a minute of silence, the computer spoke again. “It appears the best route is up.”

  Sinner looked at the ceiling of the room, a meter and some change above them. “Char, time for some more plasmacord.”

  Moments later, it was done, and half her team was climbing into the access port they’d created. The other half was leaving surprises for any Xroeshyn forces that tried to follow them.

  After all, there was never a good reason to bring explosives back from a mission.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Go,” Saint commanded, and the Marines ahead of him leapt through the breaching hatch. Unlike a typical boarding maneuver, however, there was no opening in the hull awaiting them. He imagined a god’s eye view of the operation: a string of power armor suits, tethered to one another by thin cables, inexplicably leaping out of a perfectly good shuttle into space.

  “Grapnel,” he commanded, and Pierre “Paris” Gerard fired the heavy magnet at the Xroeshyn carrier. It latched on and reeled them in. When they were near enough, each Marine activated their magnetic boots and clamped onto the skin of the ship.

  “Your access point is 237 meters ahead, Gunnery Sergeant St. John,” said the metallic tones of the sub-Pandora integrated with the ship’s systems.

  “Affirmative,” Saint replied. “You heard the lady, let’s get moving. Even though it would be beyond strange for there to be hazards for us here, keep your eyes open.” The team advanced, rifles pointing in all directions, until they reached their target. With a final bouncing step that sent his stomach into his throat, just as every single one before it had, he locked himself in place.

  “The chamber below you is pressurized, Gunnery Sergeant.”

  “Got it. Thief, deploy the bubble.”

  Julia Styler walked a ten- meter circle around the target point, dropping magnetic attachments at one- meter intervals. When the circuit was complete, she retraced her steps and attached a long tube of material to connect each to the next in line. “Everyone in position,” she said, and the Marines crowded into the center.

  Styler reviewed their positioning and nodded. She triggered a command and the tubes unspooled, flexible supports climbing and becoming rigid as they reached full extensions. The pieces joined at the apex and with a sizzle of electric connection, the individual pie wedges of the bubble fastened themselves together. Next, smaller strips extended from the bottom of the tubes to the hull, and those created a seal with the ship’s surface.

  “Pressurizing,” she said. It took less than a minute for the bubble to reach full extension, the pressure within now equivalent to the pressure inside the ship as reported by Pandora.

  “Make a hole,” Saint said, and Moya “Flame” Candella knelt to lay plasmacord around an opening just large enough for the Marines’ combat armor to fit through. It gave its own sizzle, and the piece of bulkhead was caught using magnets to keep it from falling inward. Case “Key” Jameson and Isabel “Easy” Styler set the slab of metal aside.

  “Paris, you’re first, then Alvie.” Saint put up a hand to hold them back and dropped one of the Marines’ ubiquitous sensor balls through the gap. The chamber appeared in their heads-up displays: a simple enough room, filled with a variety of cables, pipes, and other conduits. He dropped his arm, and the two the Marines jumped in, one after the other.

  Saint’s display showed them tumbling in different directions as they landed, then rolling to crouch in a cover position. “All clear,” Nieve “Alvie” Alvarez reported.

  Saint leapt in and was followed by the rest. “Where are we, Pandora?” he asked.

  “You’re in the equipment space that feeds the starboard weapons arrays, Gunnery Sergeant.”

  “Excellent choice.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. “This route should provide minimal enemy contact for a time.”

  Their displays illuminated with a directional path that led them to a bulkhead at the end of the room. “Unfortunately, you’ll need to create your own access ports,” Pandora apologized.

  “I’ve got that covered,” Flame said. She always welcomed an opportunity to deploy things that burned or blew up, and her voice indicated her enthusiasm for the task.

  Their advance was cautious, perhaps overly so, but as promised no enemies appeared to oppose them. “Sinner?” Saint said.

  “Go.”

  “Status?”

  “Very slow progress toward the bridge. Pandora is routing us away from known enemy chokepoints, but we’ve still had to fight our way through a couple.”

  “Casualties?”

  “Nothing important. Bumps and bruises. A broken bone or two. We’re good.”

  “Okay, stay safe. We’re moving as fast as we can.”

  “Affirmative. And Saint?”

  “Yes, Sinner?”

  “This ship sucks hard. Move faster.”

  He laughed and killed the channel, then moved forward at a gesture from Pierre “Paris” Gerard. As he approached the bulkhead, Pandora provided a virtual view of the room beyond it, constructed from the various sensors she’d tapped into. It was at least two decks high, and they looked down upon a dozen or so uniformed Xroeshyn operatives working at terminals. Another being, presumably an officer, marched among them carrying a small stick that he every so often smacked into the opposite gloved hand.

  “He looks like a real pleasure to serve under,” Julia Styler quipped, “not a bit like you and Sinner, Gunnery Sergeant.”

  “Thief, you just earned yourself the privilege of cleaning and re-inventorying all of our gear after this adventure.”

  The Marine groaned and the rest of the squad laughed. “Suggestions?”

  Flame was quick to respond. “Grenades. We blow up both the birds and the terminals, so they can’t use whatever they control.”

  “What room is this, Pandora?”

  “It’s a Weapons Control Center, Gunnery Sergeant. There are several of them throughout the ship, including one redundant to this one.”

  “It was a good idea, but we should probably stay quiet since destroying it won’t have any additional benefit.”

  “I’ve got just the thing,” said Key. He gestured toward a bandolier of small canisters that crossed his chest.

  Saint kicked up the magnification in his display to get a closer look at the devices. “Are those the new toys you and GeeWhiz were talking about?”

  “Affirmative. They haven’t been certified as operational yet. I brought them along in case we had prisoners to test them on afterward.”

  “What are they?”

  “Nerve gas, essentially. They should leave the birds unable to do anything with their voluntary nervous system for, our best guess anyway, at least an ho
ur.

  Saint frowned. “How sure are you?”

  “Sure, it will work it all, or sure it will work exactly as planned?”

  “Either.”

  “In testing, it sometimes resulted in the death of the subject. A tiny percentage were less affected than others, but of the few Xroeshyn we were able to test it on, it was mostly successful.”

  “You fill me with confidence,” Saint said in a dry voice. “Flame, be ready with those grenades in case this doesn’t work. The rest of you, be ready to blow a big hole in the wall and go loud.”

  He gave the gesture for “get ready” and his team went to work. They used an almost silent cutter to drill a hole just large enough for the canisters. Flame outlined a larger section in plasmacord and tied in a concussion grenade that would propel the released piece down into the room. The Marines took cover from the plasmacord, then readied their weapons.

  “Key, go.” The Marine had used a thin line to connect the canisters and slid them through the hole one by one. As he released the last, he hit the trigger to activate them all. They sprayed their contents in a wide dispersion. Each canister held multiple versions of the gas, some crafted to rise, some to fall, and some to just go wherever the currents of the target space took them.

  The technicians and the officer jumped to their feet and turned toward the clattering canisters as they hit the floor. It took only seconds for the toxin to permeate the room, and the aliens dropped in a wave that swept outward from the impact location.

  A bolt of energy sizzled across the chamber and connected with the head of a technician who’d almost reached what was presumably an alarm button.

  Saint looked at Isabel Styler, the team’s sniper, who had her weapon positioned through the hole the canisters had gone through. She gave him a raised palm shrug in return. “Can’t be too careful, Gunnery Sergeant,” she said.

  They took several minutes to undo the plasmacord before lowering themselves into the Weapons Control Center.

  “Status, Pandora?”

  “No alarms yet, Gunnery Sergeant. I disconnected the sensor feeds from this room before you breached it.”

  “Well done.”

  “Thank you.” Saint smiled inside his helmet at the fact that he was trading niceties with an artificial intelligence that was smarter and more capable than several upper-echelon officers he’d met.

  Key moved from alien to alien, scanning them and recording their responses to the toxin. “No deaths, except the one Easy barbecued,” he said. “Looks like this is a definite go.”

  “Good to know.” St. John walked over to the wall, but it didn’t vanish to provide an image of the room beyond as expected. “Pandora?”

  “You’ve reached the end of my ability to take you in this direction. There’s a wide corridor to your left. That’s the fastest path to your target.”

  “Enemy forces?”

  “None present at the moment. The area immediately surrounding the bridge is invisible to me, so I cannot guarantee their complete absence. It’s slightly over seventy-seven meters ahead.”

  “Got it,” he said, and raised his arms in a long stretch. “I’m sure I speak for many of us when I say that at this point, a standup gunfight seems preferable to crawling around in these tunnels.”

  “Amen,” chorused two of his Marines.

  He toggled his comm. “Sinner, we’re getting ready to push on the bridge. Now would be an excellent time for a distraction.”

  “Affirmative, Saint. We’ll go all out and see who we can draw, but the likely result is retreat rather than advance.”

  “Understood. Do your best but stay safe.”

  “Safety isn’t in the job description, Gunnery Sergeant St. John.” The channel closed with a click. Saint scowled at her response. She wasn’t kidding when she said she disliked being on this ship.

  “Prep for an assault on the bridge. Assume we’ll face heavy weapons and guards, and that we’ll have to cut through some serious armor.” He activated his own diagnostics and checked to make sure all his gear was where it should be.

  His Marines busied themselves, selecting appropriate ammo loadouts and energy settings. Flame pulled the heavy breaching kit from her back and placed it on a table. She pulled the two metal cylinders from the sides and threw them to two of her teammates. Then she hit the button to unfold the pack, and the most destructive tools of her trade were spread out before her. She picked a set of five shaped charges connected by a single detonator. When placed in contact with a surface, the devices would run a fast, high-powered scan to determine optimal placement, then move themselves into position using a combination of magnetics, suction, and tiny motors. It had never been tried on a Xroeshyn vessel, but it had worked very well in the past on AAN ships.

  Pandora’s voice was startling when it broke the silence, “Gunnery Sergeant Murphy has engaged the enemy. Ship security is responding, sending most of the troops I can sense toward her position.”

  “Go,” Saint ordered, and the Marines flooded out of the room.

  Flame and Paris were in the lead, two wide in the corridor as they charged. Ahead, they saw a set of four guards, the first pair about halfway down the hallway, and the others at the end. At the sight of them, the aliens froze, and sustained fire from Marines eliminated three. The fourth lived just long enough to struggle up to a control panel beside the door and trigger it before additional wounds took it down.

  With a wail of klaxons, a heavy shield door descended.

  Saint felt the wash of rockets as Paris flew past him in a prone slide across the floor, the metal rod he’d taken from Flame extended outward like a marathoner’s baton. He slammed into the wall with a giant thud and a grunt of pain.

  “Ow,” the downed Marine said as he rolled onto his back, his forward arm flopping over from the torque of his maneuver.

  Beyond him, keeping the heavy door from reaching the floor, was the cylinder, wedged beneath it.

  “Great work, Paris. Now quit whining, and let’s finish this.”

  It took the team another couple of minutes to get the second jack wedged underneath the bulkhead. They tied them both into their suit motors. Paris, whose charge had mangled several servos in his right arm of his armor, sat on the floor attached to one. The other cylinder was attached to Alvie, who would provide overwatch and rearguard.

  “In three.” Saint checked to make sure everyone was in position. “Three, two, one, go.”

  The suit motors engaged, and the security door was pushed steadily upward, despite its own motors straining in the opposite direction. Flame scuttled into the gap and wired the lower half of the bulkhead door beyond with the shaped charges. They did their magic and repositioned into a strange, asymmetrical star. “Fire in the hole,” she yelled, and the explosives detonated in a shower of smoke and debris that flew into the room beyond.

  Thief dove through the low opening, and Saint followed. The bridge was filled with technicians and security officers. The technicians who hadn’t been shredded by the incoming shrapnel fell to the floor to join the wounded, while the security forces fired at the Marines as they came. Saint popped up before the opening and triggered his shield to cover the rest of his team as they entered. Then he slid behind a barrier and swung his rifle up to take a shot. However, only one alien was still standing. Somehow, the being conveyed regal command despite the situation.

  Saint stood, brushed himself off, and walked to stand before him. “You’re the captain, I presume?”

  “I am.”

  “I call upon you to surrender your ship.”

  The bird laughed at him, and his wings fluttered in a way that conveyed mockery. “Human, do you not think we’ve prepared for this eventuality, just as we have for all the others your limited minds could come up with?” He gestured at a display where a countdown clock appeared. “The ship will self-destruct in under an eight. Further, it’ll self-destruct if my vital signs cease.”

  “Bind his hands,” Saint said on a private cha
nnel to the Marines. Over his speakers he replied, “We’ll see about that.” He pulled a small disc from his pouch and slapped it onto a control surface.

  After a minute, Pandora’s voice came across the bridge speakers. “I have access to all systems, Gunnery Sergeant. I’ve locked the enemies into their compartments, and it’ll take some time for them to breach. We’re in control of the ship. The self-destruct is off-line. However, as there hasn’t been enough time to fully explore everything, it’s possible there’s a secondary device connected to his vital signs as he claims.”

  Saint said, “Key.”

  There was the hiss of escaping gas, and the enemy commander dropped to the floor. Saint knelt next to him and patted him on the shoulder. “This will hold you for a while. Nice try though. Guess our limited minds still have some surprises for you bastards.” The rest of the aliens on the bridge succumbed to the toxin, and the room fell silent.

  He seated himself in the command chair and triggered the communication link to the Washington. Lieutenant Fitzpatrick extended the connection to include Kate, Claire, and Sinner as well.

  “Watch this,” Saint said, and with a wave instructed Pandora to take the action they’d planned. The carrier’s weapons reached out and speared the last remaining enemy ship, reducing it to its components in an instant.

  “Nice shooting,” Kate said.

  “You know it, Commander. We’re Marines, after all.”

  Cross chuckled without mirth. “All right, get mop-up operations underway, Saint, and clear those hangars. We have a lot of fighters with dwindling air supplies and no place to call home.”

  “Affirmative,” he replied and gave the requisite commands.

  “When you’re done over there, we’ll send over the transport crew to take that ship home.”

  Saint frowned. “Kate got to keep her ship,” he complained.

  Cross laughed for real. “Such are the vagaries of war, Gunnery Sergeant. Turns out we have to take a little detour before we return to the fleet, and your particular set of skills will be required.”