“A crimp,” he inquired rhetorically, “like that not-so-stealthy battleship trying to sneak up on a station like the Omicron… or perhaps you’re referring to the several thousand battle-suited Marines sailing through cold space on an intercept course with this station, who are about to reach the outer edge of our soon-to-be active shields? My engineers tell me that, unlike when another warship equipped with its own shields hits our station defensive barrier, an individual man in a battlesuit… well, let’s just say the survival rate in a non-shielded battle-suit is effectively zero. I fear the numbers don’t lie, and all you’ve done is manage to throw away the better part of a brigade of men,” he finished sadly.
I stared at him in horror. “You’d just let them die, even knowing they were your own countrymen?”
Jean Luc arched an eyebrow. “Former countrymen, and you really need to wipe some of that naivety off your boots, Nephew, or you’ll never make it out here. If you can’t hack it in the real world, it’s best you learn it now, while you still have time to run home to mama with your tail tucked firmly between your legs,” he sneered. “Life as a starship commander is one comprised of tough decisions and split second judgments.”
“If by that little statement, you mean you hope I learn how to become as cold and uncaring about the lives of Honest-to-Murphy living, breathing people as you are, then I have to say I’ve no interest in learning that particular life lesson,” I said stiffly.
“Being realistic about life’s challenges is not a flaw; it’s an asset you need to cultivate, Nephew,” he said flatly.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed your time out here in Hades, Uncle,” I said just as flatly. “I fear that’s the only place that will take you after I’m done with you.”
“Big words from a little yapping mouth,” Jean Luc said dismissively, then he turned so he was facing away from the Camera pickup, “cast off our lines and prepare for cold space. It’s time we taught this overgrown nephew of mine a thing or two about the Blood Reavers.” The sound of yipping and baying, followed by several long, drawn out wolf like howls sounded through the speakers.
I turned to the Ex. Com technician, “Please transmit this set of numbers along these frequencies,” I instructed, shooting him over a copy of a pre-drawn up series of numbers and letters.
“Admiral?” he started in surprise.
“Just do it,” I said tightly.
“Yes, Sir,” he answered bending over his console to carry out his new assignment.
For the first time Jean Luc looked genuinely curious, “Whatever you’re up to, let me be the first to assure you that it won’t work, but with that said I’d like to encourage you to try. It’s far been too long since I had a real challenge,” he said, making it clear at the very same time just how unlikely he thought my chances of being an actual challenge were.
“Oh, I think you’ll like this one, Uncle,” I assured him, curling my upper lip.
He rolled his eyes and once again turned away from the pickup.
“But at the very least,” I added, even as on the main screen Jean Luc’s image wavered and a strident siren went off in the background, “I know I will.” I watched, with quickly suppressed delight, as a red light started flashing on the bridge of my Uncle’s ship.
“What the Hades!” snapped Jean Luc, whirling around to face me. Genuine surprise and shocked disbelief showed on his suddenly furious face.
“Did you really think I was foolish enough to send all my Marines and Lancers in one fat, happy wave, let alone from the same direction?” I asked condescendingly with a piteous shake of my head as my shark-like grin returned. “Game on, Jean Luc.”
“You’ll rot for this,” he snarled before cutting the transmission.
“One of us will,” I agreed under my breath as I glared at the silent screen.
With a shake, I refocused on the scene unfolding around me on the bridge.
“Report!” I barked.
Chapter 10: A Surprise Maneuver
“You sent in an advanced wave of Lancers?” Tremblay sounded half disbelieving, half admiring.
“Some marines, but mostly lancers,” I said tightly, “and in small enough numbers that they were less likely to be spotted, unlike our much larger force which most unfortunately was.”
“The main wave is still going to be crushed into little battlesuited bags of human goo on the bounce, just as soon as they hit the station’s shield,” Tremblay said gritting his teeth.
“Each advanced team was equipped with at least one self propelled ordinance package, as well as a more traditional high explosive load prior to being released into cold space. They were also given an assignment and basically told to target either the engines on those battleships or the shield generators on the Omicron,” I said dismissively.
“A self-propelled ordinance package?” Tremblay asked dumbfounded.
“A missile or torpedo,” I said shortly, “we took on a few during our brief stop at Easy Haven. The last time we were trying to deal with pirates, the Chief Gunner mentioned something about lobbing a few ballistic missiles at them. I figured why not grab some while we had the chance?”
I turned to Officer Laurent, “What’s the status of our advance teams on the Omicron, Tactical Officer,” I demanded in a ringing voice.
“Uncertain, Sir,” growled Laurent, “so far our sensors have registered damage to what appears to be the main engines of all three battleships as well as a series of explosions on the surface of the Omicron itself. But the very screamers our Lancers and Marines are using to confuse the automated point defense systems are also messing with our own sensor readings,” he said flatly.
“Why wasn’t I informed about this plan,” demanded Tremblay sounding cross.
“Operational Security,” Warrant Officer Laurent replied shortly.
Tremblay glared at me, “You mean to say this operation is so sensitive that you can’t even trust your own Chief of Staff with all the details, but you’re more than willing to include a genetic freak like the one we have down in the brig on every major decision!” Tremblay said in disbelief.
“Not everything is about you, Raphael,” I screamed at what had to be one of the stupidest and most self-centered men I’d ever had the displeasure of dealing with. “Our Lancers are already engaged with the enemy in a battle for their lives, and all you can do is pee and moan about how you weren’t included in every decision making process? Get over yourself and shut it down, man; we have to focus on keeping our boys out there alive!”
So saying I turned back to the Tactical Officer, “Are we sure they’re going to be able to slow down in time?” I demanded. I’d been assured before but once again considering the sheer speeds our men were moving at out there, in nothing more than a battlesuit, I found myself unable to let the issue go like I should. I mean it was quite a sturdy and durable battlesuit, as I’d had reason to discover on more than one occasion but still, nothing more than a few centimeters of duralloy stood between you and death in cold space.
“The Caprian full body gravity sled is rated for atmosphere and aerospace maneuvers. It might lack the fine control of later Imperial and confederation models and be much less maneuverable than the same,” admitted Laurent, “but it makes up for those deficiencies by being massively overpowered compared to those later, more efficient models. In the atmosphere that advantage is minimal, but out in space it could mean the difference between life and death.”
Well, I thought, that wasn’t exactly the ringing endorsement I’d been wanting to hear, but it would just have to do.
“Thank you, Tactical. Keep us informed of any new updates,” I said striving for a cool and contained demeanor. On the inside I felt nothing like cool and calm.
“Yes, Admiral,” reported the Tactical Officer, “as soon as they released the self propelled ordinance and activated their gravity sleds, our advanced teams activated their screamer warheads. Primarch Glue was very specific as to which of the wavelengths and channels were primarily
used by the Omicron in previous minor crises. Say when two or more pirate ships went after each other, and the beef threatened to spill over onto the station. So our boys and girls actually have a much better chance than they might have otherwise,” he said.
The man must have realized how desperate the rest of us were for information and taken pity by filling what would have otherwise been dead end, nail biting silence, with a recap of what he, I and Glue already knew but the rest of the bridge were still in the dark about.
“I’m reading several more explosions on the surface of the Omicron, as well as a large weight of heavy laser and turbo-laser fire,” reported one of the Sensor Operators.
“The amount of point defense and blaster fire they’re able to throw out at the same time is amazing,” remarked another Sensor Technician. Not words to make an Admiral who’d just sent a large number of men to their potential deaths feel better about his decision.
“I’ve seen worse,” sneered Warrant Officer Laurent, “hold steady and don’t give these pirates more credit than they deserve.”
“How is the shield strength of the Station,” I demanded harshly.
“Shields on the Pirate Station have been raised in response to our arrival,” reported the same sensor operator to report the latest series of explosions.
“Any signs of spotting,” demanded Laurent.
“None yet, Warrant Officer,” reported the Sensor Operator.
The Tactical Officer and I shared a mutual look of understanding. If our advanced teams couldn’t do something and soon, there were going to be a lot of dead Marines. It wouldn’t matter if the Clover got there before or after the marines arrived, they’d be just as effective as bugs splatting on a windshield. Here today, gone as soon as they impacted and unlike a bug, which at least took a couple wipes of the windshield wipers to remove, our boys and girls wouldn’t be leaving even that much behind. Instead they’d be so many crushed little tin cans full of human goo floating off in the same number of directions as there were dead suites.
“The main force of Marines is approaching the shields, Admiral,” exclaimed one of the Sensor Operators, his voice making the report a clear demand. What was I going to do about this?
“On close approach,” reported Warrant Officer Laurent, “they are starting to receive point defense fire, and there they go!” barked the Tactical Officer.
“I have over two thousand individual grav-boards maneuvering for advantage, Officer Laurent,” reported the Sensor Officer, there was a pause “up to three thousand and climbing, Warrant.”
“Screamers with the Main Force are going live,” barked a Tactical Operator, “it’s obscuring our plot.”
“What about—” I started to demand.
“Multiple explosions on the surface of the Omicron,” barked a female sensor operator, cutting me off.
“Shield spotting,” yelled another Operator, “the Omicron’s shields are wavering.”
“There they go! Right through the hole,” the Tactical Officer roared, pumping his fist in the air as several hundred Marines streamed through the first opening in the Omicron’s wavering shields.
I closed my eyes and breathed a quick sigh of relief.
“The Omicron’s fire still seems confused by the screamers, but the battleships are focusing their point defense fire on the main breakthrough openings,” snapped Warrant Officer Laurent.
“Are we already approaching the Omicron at top speed, Helmsman,” I demanded. We had to get in there as fast as possible. Once my advance teams shot their wad, any chance of keeping those battleships from repairing their drive units and getting back into the fray went out the window, unless Colonel Wainwright’s marines managed to take the ship by storm before they had the chance to maneuver against us.
“It doesn’t matter if they can’t get a hard lock on our men, the Blood Reavers just have to point at the holes in the Station’s shields and cut loose,” reported Laurent, looking upset.
“I’m surprised the Royal Marines actually went through with it,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head with surprise. My uncertainty about the Marines following orders was the main reason why the majority of the Advanced Teams came from the Lancer contingent. So long as those enemy Battleships were unable to maneuver, we still had a fighting chance!
Chapter 11: The Weight of Fire
“ROSSSSSSSS,” screamed Colonel Wainwright, slewing his grav-sled around for all it was worth. The pirate station’s shields were spotting, but the hole in the shields — the one right in front of him that he’d been aiming for — had closed up faster than a witch’s hex. Everywhere he looked, the shield was tighter than a drum.
Then an area down and to his left started to go hazy.
“Follow me, Marines,” he roared, praying his sled had enough juice to make the curve. It didn’t matter if he and the first few battlesuited members of his brigade hit it on the bounce; if enough of them hit it while it was weak, the rest of the men in the company behind him would make it through.
Even with every last erg of power he could eek out of his sled, he was still going to miss the opening.
Burning with frustration and only able to hold onto the sled against the g-forces tugging on him through virtue of the power assisted strength in his suit, he bared his teeth.
When the hole in the Omicron’s shields started to migrate, he didn’t hesitate.
The turbulence as his grav-sled slammed through the barrier was enough to fracture of the duralloy stays holding him to the sled.
He didn’t even have enough time to properly realize he was through the barrier before point defense fire started lancing all around him.
Dodging and weaving, he saw one of the faster sleds start to push past him, its operator even more reckless than their commander in pushing every last ounce of thrust out of his sled. His overeager marine was suddenly gone in a flash of super heated metal and meat as a point defense laser found and annihilated him.
“Reverse thrust,” bellowed the Marine Colonel, turning his sled around and applying every bit of thrust in the opposite direction.
Tail end of the sled pointed at the battleship which was his assigned primary target, he activated the screamer attached to the hind end of his sled.
All around him, the other marines in the company he was leading ejected their screamers and maneuvered for advantage in the hail of blaster fire trying to burn them out of cold space, but not the Colonel. His screamer was welded to the back of his Grav-Sled. Not only did you have to be insane to accept command of a brigade of Royal Marines, but if you were going to lead them against a hulking big target like this pirate base, well… you had to go first and take risks no one else was willing to take.
Besides, after the way the advance teams had already gone in and got this party started, he needed to do something to show those cocky Confederation upstarts that not only did his Marines have just as much willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty, but twice as much starch in their bellies! Thus, the screamer welded to the grav-sled.
Which was why, even though it was hardened, the computer built into the grav-sled shorted out. With a spark and a fizzle, it gave up the ghost, and it took with it control of the only thing keeping him from slamming like a meteor into the hull of the battleship. The screamer was still working fine at throwing off every targeting sensor trying to get a lock on the rest of his men though, which was the main thing.
Going manual, the Marine Colonel forced the Sled to stay on course. Following the instructions projected on his face plate by the much simpler but still functional computer built into his battle-suit, he closed his eyes and yelled defiance at the universe.
With a crash, the arm-lock fractured completely and the Colonel went into a sickening spin as the grav-sled broke into several pieces around him.
Another impact had him seeing stars, and something in his shoulder popped with a sickening, sucking sound.
Something knocked the wind out of him as he was struck in the
midsection, but after a moment he realized he was no longer spinning quite so badly.
By the time his head cleared he was still seeing stars, but this time it was because his faceplate was crisscrossed with fracture lines where it had broken. A small hissing whine filled his ears, indicating he’d hit something hard enough to cause a leak.
There was another restrictive sensation around his middle, and suddenly he was flying past another Marine. He had time to see a thumbs up signal before he slammed into the metal hull of the battleship butt first. Activating his strap on thruster pack and his magnetic boots, he tried to compensate but once again started floating off the hull.
Reaching down to his belt he pulled out a hand-held harpoon with a magnetic end. Activating the foot long device in his hand, he aimed it at the hull and pulled the trigger. He could all but imagine the clang as it hit. Activating the auto-recover function, he watched as it pulled him in toward the hull. His visor automatically darkened as a nearby point defense turret fired into space.
“Report,” he barked, but there was an ominous silence in response to his command. Then he saw the marine, who he now realized had lassoed him around the waist and pulled him out of a dead spin, dragging him hand over hand back for another inglorious near landing on the ship.
The marine waved and then knocked on the side of his helmet.
The Colonel growled with frustration. At least one of them had no short range communicator. It was an easy guess that if one of them was having trouble, it was probably the one who rode a screamer down and then hit an enemy ship so hard his visor was leaking air.
The other marine continued to haul him down, but the Colonel pulled out a combat knife and cut the other man’s harpoon line. He wasn’t going to hear it said later on in the barracks how he was reeled back onto the hull of their target like some kind of hapless new fish that was too green to swim.
Spineward Sectors 03 Admiral's Tribulation Page 10