Victors

by T. R. Cameron

  “We noticed you’ve got some friends on your tail. We’ll be in range to help knock them off shortly.”

  “Excellent,” she replied. “That’ll allow me to get into position to push them away from the fortress.”

  “I’d expected to see Dima.”

  The current commander of the Beijing smiled. “Captain First Rank Petryaev is currently on another assignment. He should arrive before too long though.”

  Kate frowned at the woman’s cryptic answer, then was startled out of her reverie by the sight of energy lancing toward her ship.

  “We appear to be in range, Senior Lieutenant. Talk to you again soon.”

  “Stay safe, Commander,” she answered, and vanished.

  “Diaz, I think it’s time to line them up and knock them down with our new toy.”

  “Now you’re talking,” he replied. “We’re aiming for both the carrier and the squadron protecting it, right?”

  “It’d be a shame to lose the element of surprise without doing as much damage as possible.”

  “Pandora,” Diaz asked, “how many of the new torpedoes will be required if I can get them more or less in a semicircle?”

  The avatar of the ship shimmered to life in its regular position beside the viewscreen. She was again dressed in the ship’s colors, and now a matching collar had been added to the furry creature that stretched and yawned before settling again around her neck and rubbing its face against her fingers. “The numbers are imprecise, Lieutenant. I’d recommend using all eight of them.”

  “Commander?” Diaz asked.

  “I concur.” Kate turned to the holographic projection. “Pandora, how long to manufacture replacements?”

  “Two are already in process, Commander Flynn. We should have another two completed during the expected duration of the battle.”

  “Very good, thank you. Diaz, give me a vector.”

  On her control panel, an arcing path drew itself from their current location to a spot that would put them right in the thick of things. She took precious seconds to verify that no allies were likely to shift into their arc of fire. She found none and threw the Pandora into a high-speed redirection onto the path. Moments later, they were in position and under a continuous barrage from the enemy squadron. Small fighters looked like insects as they changed course to intercept her.

  “Come into my parlor,” Kate whispered, then announced, “Firing now.” Her fingers stabbed down at the panel and eight torpedoes flew free, four from each broadside. She watched them curve on the main display and arrange themselves in an equidistant line in front of the enemy.

  “Is it wrong that I’m really excited to see what they’ll do?” Diaz asked.

  “The only thing wrong about it is that we don’t have popcorn to enjoy it with,” Kate replied.

  Then the bridge fell silent as the torpedoes did their work. The new munitions were most similar in human experience to the Claymore anti-personnel weapon. Simultaneously, the eight missiles killed their main engines and engaged thrusters to rotate ninety degrees, positioning them lengthwise in relation to their main targets. They detonated, sending small shards flying at the enemy. In atmospheric combat, the tiny weapons would’ve been melted by friction. In space, however, they sped away and spread unhindered.

  The miniature projectiles were made of an incredibly dense metal. The ship’s manufactury produced them first as spheres, then added sharp edges by carving away material. They were small enough the other ships’ shields did little more than slow them, as those energy barriers were designed with much larger projectiles in mind. Some of the spheres were stopped by the hulls, but there were so many that eventually they weakened the armor enough to pierce it.

  Where the tiny bladed weapons met delicate instruments, the instruments were destroyed. Where they met flesh, the flesh was shredded.

  Each torpedo had thousands upon thousands of the metal motes packed inside.

  From Kate’s viewpoint, it looked at first as if nothing was happening. Then, the closer ships and all the fighters in range began to show signs of damage in the form of erratic maneuvers or sudden actions before succumbing to explosions both large and small. A majority of the shards made it through to the carrier, and after a time it too started to show damage. Seconds later, it disintegrated in a series of detonations. In moments, the brutal weapons had destroyed nine ships and countless fighters.

  Diaz whistled. “Tell me again why these aren’t our standard munitions, Pandora?”

  The avatar shrugged in a very human way. “These were developed at the very end of the war between the Domeki and the Xroeshyn and never put into use. These are the first combat launches of them, ever.”

  “Would our ship stand up against them?” Kate asked.

  Pandora adopted a thoughtful pose for several moments, then replied, “Our shields are designed to operate against projectiles of all sizes and most electromagnetic and gravitic frequencies, Commander. On their own, they wouldn’t be significantly more threatening than any other vessel in the Domeki arsenal.”

  “Good to know,” Kate said. “Let me know when the next pair is ready. Load them into the forward tubes when they are.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  She rolled through the fire emanating from the fortress as she neared it. She gently tapped the control panel and blasted gun emplacements on its surface as she flew by. Even as her mind catalogued the dangers and reacted to them, her spirit lifted at the fighter-like feel of the ship under her hands. As she swung around to the far side of the giant sphere, she found an enemy trap waiting for her.

  “Triangle,” Diaz called.

  “I see them,” she growled. The back two ships were already connected to the one in the lead, and the green beam that had been so effective before at taking the Pandora off-line stabbed out at her. She slipped sideways, mashing the starboard thrusters to get out of the way of the brilliant lance. It tracked toward her, and she corkscrewed low to lose it, only to be sent in the opposite direction as an enemy fighter closed at top speed intent on ramming her. The straps hurt were they dug into her uniform as she flipped the ship over and threw it into a vertical climb. She stroked the buttons for torpedoes, and her aft tubes fired, sending the missiles back along the emerald line. The front ship evaded, and the glow disappeared.

  “Let’s see how they like this,” she snapped. The Pandora flipped again, rotated along her spine, then dove at a point directly in between the two trailing vessels. She engaged both broadsides as she leapt between them and continued abusing them with aft lasers as she passed. First one, then the other fell victim to the barrage.

  “Nice shooting, Commander,” said Diaz.

  She didn’t reply but focused on something in the corner of the display. She saw a flurry of activity around the Chicago and zoomed to magnify the space. The dreadnought was surrounded by Xroeshyn cruisers and destroyers, plus a carrier. Near it, as if they’d just emerged from its hangars, were four ships on each side that were notably bigger than fighters, but far smaller than cruisers.

  “Pandora,” she asked, “what are those?”

  “Troop transports, Commander,” the ship’s avatar replied.

  A chill shot through Kate as she remembered the Marines’ fight against the Xroeshyn troops in the caverns beneath the mountain. She slid the ship onto a course toward the Chicago and yelled, “Peterson, connect me.”

  When the telltale on her control panel illuminated, she said, “Chicago, this is the Pandora. We’ve identified eight transports heading for you. You’re about to be boarded. We’re coming to assist.”

  “Negative, Commander,” responded Captain Jennifer Roberts, in charge of the Chicago. “We’re aware, and we have Marines and sailors on board to defend against them should they manage to breach us.”

  “But Captain,” she began, only to be cut off.

  “Admiral Okoye says to tell you that your task is more important, and one way or another, we’ll deal with the situation.”

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sp; Kate pushed away the image and meaning of those words. “Affirmative,” she growled, and spun the Pandora again. Ahead, the Washington neared the base, with a set of escorts clearing a path and other ships on guard in a sphere around her.

  “Dammit,” she breathed, and shook her head. Again, as she’d been doing since the start of this war, Kate pushed her fears down into a box deep in her soul and locked them away. It was time to take on the fortress, and she’d need her wits about her if any of them were to survive.

  Chapter Thirty

  Saint watched through the external camera feed as the Marine Flight charged out of the Washington’s remaining hangar bay. Unlike their previous boarding activity, this carried no expectation of stealth. The three shuttles looked like cannon rounds, black cylinders that terminated in a sharp metallic point. The rockets on their tails came fully alive as the pilots accelerated, and the ships flew in formation with the minimum safe distance separating them.

  “Shuttles two and three, status?” Saint asked.

  “Shuttle two, all green,” Sinner replied.

  “Shuttle three, all green,” Jeffrey “Surfer” Baker answered.

  Saint looked up again at his display. “Is that overlay ready yet,” he snapped.

  “Coming your way, Gunnery Sergeant,” replied the Washington’s sensor officer. Shortly after, Pandora’s best guess at the internal structure of the fortress was superimposed upon it. Saint identified their target location, a giant hangar that had registered on the Pandora’s sensors as emptier than the others. It also had the benefit of being nearer the assumed location of the control center than the other hangars. The assumptions were spotty, as even the Pandora couldn’t get a clear read through the hull of the behemoth.

  “Slide us forward, Andrews,” Saint ordered, and the shuttle moved slightly ahead of the other two. He looked at all the information he had available and shook his head. This was an unexpected and undesired wrinkle in humanity’s game plan

  “Marine Flight to Washington. We read good to go.”

  “Show the birds what we’re made of, Saint,” Cross replied. “You’re released for action.”

  “Punch it,” Saint said to the pilots of all three shuttles, and an additional engine stage engaged. They shot forward, weaving when required to avoid debris or energy blasts, but otherwise focused exclusively on hitting their target point.

  When the shuttle’s pointed nose intersected with the skin of the fortress, the force of the collision was transmitted through his suit where it was grapneled to the hull. The impact bled off a significant portion of their velocity, as it was expected to do, and then they were through the broken exterior hatch of the hangar and sliding across the cavernous space. The pilot had a checklist of options for deceleration, but none of them included such a fast approach to such a shallow landing spot. He jumped immediately to the end of the list and mashed his palm against a physical button set into the chair. Tiny ports exploded all over the ship as safety lines attached to powerful magnets flew out in all directions. They latched onto every available surface, then pulled taut. The shuttle jerked again as it slowed. Multiple cables parted as the other two shuttles performed their breaching maneuver and fired their own lines. In the end, all three ships were in the bay, more or less operative, and their crews safe.

  As ramps fell from the backs of the shuttles, the Marines marched down them. Each carried or dragged a cargo container out into the center of the space. The first to disembark drew their weapons and trained them at the obvious entrances to the hangar.

  “Everybody alive?” Saint asked.

  “Not me,” responded Sinner. Affirmatives and laughter followed.

  He walked to a shallow case and picked it up, laying in atop another equipment crate. A quick negotiation between the shallow rectangle and his suit released the lock. The lid rose, and he pulled out an oversized gunbelt and the special pistol that had been sent to him on one of their first missions against the Xroeshyn. He strapped the holster down along his outer leg and practiced the draw once.

  “Seriously, Tex?” Sinner asked.

  Saint tipped an imaginary hat to her and didn’t deign to respond. He turned to the team’s technophile, Gideon “GeeWhiz” Wilkinson, and asked, “How long?”

  “Standby,” he replied, and fired a grapnel at the ceiling near a wall set with a viewport high above. His suit pulled him up the line, and once he was opposite the window, he used a small torch to make a hole and swung in. He detached the tether and dropped it, then said, “Computer terminals up here, just as expected. One access point. Bring my gear up, and I should have at least basic information for you within five minutes.”

  “Make it three,” Saint countered, pointing at everyone that wasn’t on guard to break open the equipment crates and get the pieces deployed.

  Four minutes later, GeeWhiz was embroiled in a virtual battle for system access with the help of a pair of sub- Pandora discs. In the room with him were two automated turrets and two mobile sentries, ready to defend him should the aliens come calling. A double portion of each were on guard in the hangar as well, covering the pair of entrances to the space from the main deck. Each Marine had extra gear strapped on to their armor, either in the form of large backpacks or in satchels and containers on attachment points all over their bodies. Saint led the way toward one of the exit doors. “GeeWhiz?”

  “I’ll have your path in forty seconds, Gunnery Sergeant. Standby.”

  Saint drew his rifle and let his suit analyze its readiness. He triggered the comm channel that included all the Marines. “So, as you know, the birds are evil, and intend to do something nasty with the fortress. It’s our job to stop them from doing it. We’re going accomplish this by killing everyone we see, making our way to the control room, and taking over this facility. Failing that, Plan B is to take every explosive we have and blow this thing up ourselves, before the aliens can use it for their nefarious plans.”

  “I vote for option one, now, if we’re voting,” Sinner quipped, and Saint laughed.

  “Option one it is.” A path illuminated in their displays, and he waved the team forward.

  They advanced in pairs, except for the Marine whose “assault buddy” was currently trying and failing to break into the deeper systems of the fortress. They were as quiet as beings in metal armor possibly could be, but they had no illusions that their presence would remain secret for long.

  They received confirmation of this as Surfer rolled a sensor sphere around the corner to discover power-armored enemies positioned behind defensive emplacements lying in wait for them to appear.

  The squad froze as they saw the feed from the device. “Let’s keep the biggest stuff in reserve for as long as we can,” Saint said. “Distraction grenades, then incendiaries, then charge and fire.”

  The front two were on grenade duty, and they poked their rifles around the corner at different heights and fired the canisters into the hallway. They detonated in a barrage of sound, light, and flame. The Marines charged in an instant after, spraying projectiles and energy at the enemy. The aliens ducked behind the barricades to avoid the initial onslaught, then popped up in staggered order to return fire. Saint took a blast to the shoulder and staggered back a step. “They have heavy weapons, avoid getting hit if you can. Even more than usual,” he finished.

  Sinner ran around him and slid, the metal of her suit sparking off the surface of the floor. She fired low and caught an enemy who’d stuck its foot too far out beyond the safety of the defensive barrier. He fell into open space and was targeted by several Marines at once. Sinner rolled to momentary safety on the near side of the front most barricade.

  Hugo “Huge” Galano brought his machine gun forward and marched down the hallway, unleashing a stream of bullets at the aliens. Every tenth round was a tracer, and they cycled fast enough to give the illusion of a continuous beam of destruction sweeping through the corridor. He’d made it halfway down the corridor before four birds popped up from behind the barricad
es at the same instant and fired at his head. The helmet and the skull within it came off and flew backward. The suit of armor rocked for a moment, then fell. The rest of the Marines yelled various sounds of outrage and charged in to eliminate the remaining enemies with brutal efficiency.

  “One minute for analysis,” Saint said. “Baker, guard front. Paris, guard rear.”

  The Marines moved among the downed aliens, searching them for anything that might be useful. The Styler twins ran sensors on each of the dead birds to gather as much data about their armored suits as possible. Saint rejoined the pieces of Galano’s body and knelt to rig it with an incendiary that would consume the remains completely if triggered.

  “We’ll be back for you when we can, big guy,” Saint said inside his helmet, then stood and activated the general comm channel again. “Time’s up, people. Reform and advance.”

  As they moved forward, GeeWhiz continued to complain about the resistance he faced from the fortress’s security systems. “This is the most robust computer defense we’ve seen from them,” he said. “For a moment, I had access to their communication system and shut it down. But I’m sure they’ve rebooted by now.”

  “Are your robots prepared for Plan B?” Saint asked.

  “Affirmative,” he replied. “The welding attachments are ready to seal up the doors if needed. That’s going to make it awfully difficult to get out of this place, though.”

  “One problem at a time,” Sinner said. “Speaking of problems, look ahead, Saint.”

  He focused his eyes on the map and saw what she was referring to. A shape that looked like an asterisk lay in their path, at the spot where six corridors met at their intersection with one of the concentric rings that led around the sphere. “That looks like a very bad idea,” Saint agreed. “GeeWhiz, any eyes?”

  “Negative, Gunnery Sergeant. It’s as if the birds have locked them up behind a firewall or something.”