Duty held him back, but a quick glance at the agile Sekura, the shaman who had talked himself into accompanying them on their journey, showed a shared vision. The old man felt as he did, his aged eyes somehow sharing Clarke's youth. There were figures moving around, a small cluster of guards watching the shuttle, and crates scattered by its side. By the looks of it, they were just in time.
“Should we dismount, sir?” Fox asked, hopefully.
“Not a chance, Sergeant!” he replied. “Swords high! Let's get them?”
“A cavalry charge?” Mortimer asked. “We're actually charging the enemy on horseback with swords? How the hell did we get this desperate?”
“Come on, Ronnie,” Clarke said. “This is what I signed up for!”
“We must have had different recruiters,” she replied, but she pulled out her sword, following him into battle, a disbelieving Maqua watching them as they charged. He outranked Clarke, could stop this, but instead he shook his head, unsheathing his blade and following into battle, gunshots ripping into the ground on all sides as the guards belatedly realized they were under attack.
Clarke's sword swept into the nearest trooper, the figure crumpling to the ground, shock on his face as he died. To the right, Maqua and Fox charged into the flank, while he and Mortimer pressed into the heart of the enemy, eating up the distance between them and the shuttle. He heard a crack, and a grunt of pain, turning just in time to watch Maqua fall to the ground, clutching his side, but Fox quickly avenged the injury with a savage stab, dropping the guard instantly.
“Surrender!” Clarke yelled, and the remaining two guards looked at each other, hesitating for less than a minute before emptying their clips into the ground at full automatic, then tossing their rifles away and raising their hands.
“Damn!” Fox said, swinging from her horse, tumbling onto the grass. Her horse looked at her with disdain before moving away, and Clarke guided his mount towards the surrendered troops. “How the hell did you get so good at riding, sir?”
“Too many cowboy games when I was a kid. Those VR programs were really realistic.” He dropped carefully to the ground, sore and stiff, and walked over to the guards, saying, “Any more ammunition?” They shook their heads, and he gestured to Fox, still brushing herself off, and said, “Search them. Take anything interesting.”
Mortimer was already climbing into the shuttle, and she peered through the hatch, saying, “Not good news, John. It looks like the bailiffs have been.”
He walked into the cabin, then cursed under his breath. Much of the equipment had been stripped out, all of the emergency supplies and weapons removed, and several of the panels were smashed, broken beyond obvious repair.
“Fuel intact,” she said. “And the lower thrusters. There's nothing wrong with the basic structure, but we've got no guidance, no navigation, and the life support system is in pieces. We'd have to ride in our suits. And they aren't here.”
“I think I can help,” Sekura said, peering into a crate. “Most of the equipment seems to be here. Perhaps you can repair your craft.”
With a shrug, Mortimer replied, “Probably, but it's going to take time if we're hoping to get back to the ship. Without automatic navigation, we can't plot a path through free space.” She paused, then said, “Maybe Alamo could come to us. Or at least send out a tanker.” Walking over to the console, she said, “Communications are intact, and we've still got power.”
Fox walked in, and said, “Lieutenant Maqua's out cold. I've got Sekura watching him and the others at the moment.”
“How badly was he hurt?” Mortimer asked, as Clarke slid on a headset.
“Just a graze from the bullet, but it knocked him off his horse. Broken leg, broken ankle, broken arm, all down his left side. I've strapped him up, but aside from that, about all I can do is give him some painkillers. He could use real medical attention if we can manage it.”
Clarke turned to the console, and said, “Let's see if we can rustle some up. Clarke to Alamo Actual on emergency frequency. Come in, please. Clarke to Alamo on emergency frequency. Come in, please.”
“Clarke?” Scott's voice said. “Stand by for the Captain if you can. He'll be up in one minute. Where the hell have you been?”
“Swinging from a tree, ma'am, and I only wish I was joking about that.”
“Salazar here,” another voice interrupted. “Report, Sub-Lieutenant.”
“We were captured by agents of something calling itself the Hierarchy, but with the assistance of local insurgent force were able to wipe out their garrison and recapture the shuttles. They're broken on the surface, sir, but my understanding is that they are planning some sort of an attack on Alamo, and that they are holding prisoners in some sort of a base.”
“That matches what we've heard. How many people do you have?”
“Not many, sir, but I have reinforcements coming on horseback. Should be here in a few hours.”
There was a pause, and Salazar asked, “Did you say horseback?”
“Yes, sir, I did. Fastest method of transport we can find. We're short on ammunition, but we've got close-quarters weapons.”
With a deep sigh, Salazar replied, “I've got a mission for you, John, but I'll have to stress that it is strictly volunteer, and if you don't think you've got the capability and equipment to pull it off, tell me. No false bravado. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What's the status of the shuttle?”
“Damage to the internal equipment, sir. I think we can clear the sphere, but for anything else we're going to be reliant on Alamo coming to get us.”
“Never mind that, not for the moment,” he replied. “Can you make it to those caverns you saw, twenty miles down from the portal? Our information suggests that the hidden base is there.”
Looking at the controls, Clarke glanced at Mortimer, who nodded, then said, “Can do, sir.”
“Lieutenant Harper has managed to get free, and is currently heading to destroy a piece of equipment that is capable of knocking out all sensor and communication systems. On our current course, we're dead if they manage to activate it. I can't send any reinforcements other than you and your team.” He paused, then continued, “We'll be going to battle stations in less than half an hour.”
“We're already on our way, Captain. You can count on us. Can you send through any data you have?”
“Will do. You'll be entering the jamming field not long after you launch, so I'll wish you the best of luck. The lives of everyone on Alamo and Endurance are riding with you.”
“Understood, sir. And Lieutenant Maqua sends his regards.”
“What? Maqua's alive?”
“Wounded, sir, but stable.”
“I'll be damned. Thank you, Sub-Lieutenant. Good hunting. Alamo Actual out.”
Shaking her head, Mortimer replied, “John, are you out of your mind?”
“You nodded.”
“Because I didn't realize quite what you were talking us into.” Pulling out her rifle, she said, “I have five bullets for this thing. After that I'm back to my sword. We can't all go up to the base anyway. Someone's going to have to stay behind to watch Lieutenant Maqua and the prisoners.”
“Not a problem,” Fox said. “I can give them some twenty-four hour shots from the medical kit. They'll sleep nice and sound until our reinforcements arrive, and Garland will be able to help him a lot more than I can anyway.”
“Then that just means that there are four of us, wielding swords and wearing spacesuits, going into a network of unknown caverns against a vastly superior force.”
“You want to stay behind?” he asked.
“Hell no. I just want to make sure you realize just what you're getting yourself into.” Turning to Fox, she asked, “Is he always this crazy, or is there something in the air down here?”
“Oh, he's always this crazy,�
�� Fox replied. “I'll go get the spacesuits.”
“We're assuming that there are four of us,” Clarke said, turning to the old shaman.
A beaming smile filled his face, and he said, “I haven't had an adventure like this in years. You don't think you are going to leave me behind, do you? Besides, my people explored those caverns, ten thousand years ago, and we still have the songs and stories of those times. I may have knowledge of those tunnels that you will find useful.” Pulling out a sword, he added, “And I've bathed my blade in blood already today.”
“Got the suits, sir,” Fox said, tossing them aboard. “I'll run Sekura through the drill.”
Frowning, Clarke replied, “Are you sure that…,” before watching the shaman reach for the lower section, struggling his legs into position.
“During my quest, I came across several advanced cultures. One of whom took me on a trip to the surface to see the stars.” His eyes glazed over for a moment, and he said, “I'd like very much to do that one more time, if I live long enough.”
“You will,” Fox said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I'll take you up to the surface myself, as soon as this is over.”
Sitting down at the controls, Clarke looked over the status board, red lights flashing on as he brought the systems on-line. He struggled into his spacesuit, checking every system, while the shuttle completed its preflight checks, warning alerts flashing at every turn to warn them of systems failures.
“All ready?” he asked.
“We're good to go,” Mortimer said, sitting next to him. “Let's get this insanity over with.”
“Main engine sequence start,” Clarke replied, firing the lateral thrusters to kick them clear of the surface, careful to drift across, balancing the power on manual control. Most of the control computers had been either removed or damaged beyond easy repair, and simply keeping the ship stable was proving a far too difficult task, and wasteful of the precious fuel in their tanks.
“Come on, John,” Mortimer said.
“I've got to get a feel for her, or we'll never make altitude. Not easy flying without full computer-assistance. I can't even monitor the systems that are working properly.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Here we go.”
He fired a quick pulse from the engine, sending the shuttle skidding towards the shaft, and angled the nose down before running the throttle as high as he dared, making quick corrections with his thrusters in a desperate bid to keep them on a straight heading. The viewscreen flickered, some of the sensor pickups failing, and his eyes widened as Mortimer's fingers danced across the engineering console, trying to keep power to the external systems.
“The portal,” he said. “It's closed. No way out.” Glancing at the fuel gauge, he added, “And I'm pretty sure this is a one-way trip. We'd never be able to make a landing. Five miles and rising.”
“Got a lock on the caverns,” Mortimer said. “Alamo's data is good.” She frowned, then said, “There go our communications. I hope nobody wanted their last words broadcast.”
“Mine would be much too boring,” Fox quipped. “I can't decide between 'Argh' or 'Mother'. Any thoughts?”
“You want something more distinctive, enigmatic. 'Rosebud', maybe,” Mortimer quipped.
“Ten miles,” Clarke said. “Sergeant, you'd better be ready to open fire as soon as we arrive. Stealth isn't going to be a realistic option.” He frowned, then added, “I've got an idea.”
“Those are words I am really getting to dread,” Mortimer replied. “Fuel stabilization failure. Correct lateral thruster. There's something wrong with the distributor.”
“Correcting,” Clarke said. “Try funneling additional fuel from Tank Two.”
“On it,” she said. “Damn. Half this console is wrecked. I swear someone took a hammer to it.” Swiping controls, she added, “Better make this quick. We're going to lose stability soon.”
“Full burn,” Clarke said, and they raced through the atmosphere, more lights flashing on.
“Shall I reduce cabin pressure?” Fox asked.
“Do it,” Clarke replied, “and fill the tanks as high as you can. We might not be able to breath it in here, but I think the vents are still working.”
“Would this be that plan of yours?” Mortimer said.
“Something like that. We're going to have to move damned quickly when we set down. Just run like hell.”
“I've got the location from Lieutenant Harper's plans,” Fox added. “Just as well. Not much point the cavalry riding to the rescue if we don't know where we're going.”
“I never thought we'd be able to use that expression literally,” Mortimer quipped. “Thirty miles, rising fast. Fuel falling, aft thrusters failing.”
“On it,” Clarke said, carefully guiding the shuttle onwards, fighting the growing weight imbalance as the center of gravity shifted. Under any circumstances other than the must desperate, he should have aborted the flight as soon as the fuel pumps failed. They had enough in the active tanks to get to where they were going, but the helm was growing more sluggish by the second.
“Forty miles. Air thinning. Getting smoother. Gravity dropping off,” Mortimer reported. “We're getting some good data on the gravity generator. Makes for a damned strange flight profile. Polarity reversal coming up.”
“I've got visual contact on the caves,” Clarke said, easing back on the throttle. “Seventy-nine miles, for the record, so correct your maps.” Sweeping his hand across the display to magnify the image, he added, “I make twelve people up there waiting for us. Correction, fourteen. Fifteen. They might have turned out most of the garrison. I hope so.”
“There's a chance they'll think we're one of theirs,” Fox said.
“Which will probably prevent them from killing us out of hand, but no more than that.”
Throwing a lever, Clarke said, “Leveling off, switching to lateral thrusters. Stand by on the life support controls. In fact, slave them to my console.”
“Doing it,” Fox said, walking over to the rear controls. “Done, sir.”
“Five miles to go. Going a little fast.”
“Yeah. Got it.” He reached for the fine thruster throttles, easing them up, balancing one against another in a desperate bid to keep the ship stable, finally bringing the level of the caverns into view. He could see a row of troopers lined up, weapons at the ready, most of them with the man-portable lasers he'd seen before.
“Those might penetrate the hull, sir,” Fox warned.
“Not a problem,” Clarke replied, tapping the control to purge the life support system. A fountain of high-velocity gas ripped from the tanks, slamming into the unprepared troopers, scattering them in all directions. A lucky trio fell backwards, into the caverns, where they had at least a chance of survival, but most slid into the shaft, dropping to their death, destined to burn up in the atmosphere after an eighty mile drop.
Mortimer looked at Clarke, then at the now-empty platform, and said, “I'll say this for you, John, you really know how to make an entrance.”
“Twenty minutes left,” Clarke replied. “Let's move.”
Chapter 19
Salazar's eyes were locked on the viewscreen, watching the trajectories dance around as the four ships maneuvered into position, each trying to get a fractional advantage over the others, an edge that might make the difference between life and death in the battle to come. He glanced around the bridge, frowning, most of his senior officers away from their posts. Only Scott was riding her customary station, Carpenter standing in for Francis at the rear of the bridge. That Alamo's Science Officer was acting as Executive Officer illustrated just how short-handed he was.
Bowman turned from the communications station, and reported, “We've just lost contact with Probe Five, sir. That's the last of them. We'll be running into the jamming field in seven minutes, ten seconds.”
“Combat range nine minute
s away,” Ballard said. “We could still alter course, sir.”
Shaking his head, Salazar replied, “We'll stay on this heading. At least we have some idea when the jamming field is going to hit us as long as we remain on this course, and if Kris can pull off another one of her miracles, we'll be able to give them a little surprise. Carpenter, I want our fighters to scramble three minutes before we hit the bubble, orders to skirt what we think the edges are and attempt to engage the enemy at long-range.”
“Aye, sir,” she replied, turning to the communications station to issue the orders.
“All missiles are switched to dumb-fire, sir,” Scott said. “Nothing we can do about the laser cannon. I can try a shot, but the odds of us hitting anything without fine sensor resolution are next to nothing. I think we'd be better off saving the power.”
“They must have a way to fight in there,” Quesada said.
“Those mass drivers of theirs are perfect for that environment, Sub-Lieutenant,” Salazar replied. “Rapid fire, high speed impact, and without sensors, we won't be able to dodge them. Which means I'm going to be dependent on you implementing the best evasive course I've ever seen. You'll have to anticipate the firing pattern, and remember that they'll be spreading it out over a wide area. Probably wide enough to cover the usual evasive arcs.”
“Already plotted, sir,” the helmsman replied. “I've had a look at the historical profiles of those weapons, and Endurance sent me over some good data.” He paused, then added, “Though I'm also acting on the assumption that they'll know we have that information. It's useful, not not definitive.” Tapping a control, he added, “We'll have to be careful, though. I plotted the original course to take us pretty tight in. There's no margin for error.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Shadows in the Sky Page 16