Battlecruiser Alamo: Triple-Edged Sword

by Richard Tongue

   “As I said, the power is a lot lower,” Nelyubov replied. “Nevertheless, we've got the missiles in the air, so we might as well get some use out of them.”

   “Cantrell, forget the warning shot. I want that ship disabled.”

   “Aye, aye, ma'am,” she replied, working her controls, twisting the course of the missiles to converge on the solar sail, working to keep them clear of the laser beam. The transport, almost forgotten, lurched to the side in an attempt to leave the combat area, but two of the enemy missiles finally caught up with it, smashing into its midsection, two angry gouges in its hull that spilled air out into space, tossing it around until the pilot was able to bring it back under control.

   At the transport struggled to recover, Alamo's missiles swept into the theater, dodging around the ship to smash into its solar sail, twisting it into a million tiny fragments that briefly glittered before dispersing into infinity. The beam ceased thirty seconds later, the operators realizing that the battle was lost.

   “They're out of combat range,” Spinelli said. “No chance that they can get back into it any time soon, either. Their orbit won't bring them back this way for twenty-one days.” Glancing across at a panel, he said, “Looks like their boarding shuttle is about to dock with the transport.”

   “Someone's jamming their signal,” Weitzman added. “I can't raise them.”

   Tapping a control, Orlova said, “Cooper, get a squad into the air and secure that ship. Move quickly. I don't think you have long.” Glancing at Nelyubov, she added, “I guess we've chosen sides.”

   “Agreed,” he replied. “In what, I wonder.”

  Chapter 3

   Cooper sprinted towards the waiting shuttle, half his squad already loading their equipment on board, with the remainder hard on his heels, boots clanging against metal. Sergeant Gurung, fuming at being left behind, was engaged in hasty conversation with the other squad leaders, Corporal Hunt busy corralling the last of the troopers on board.

   “Come on, come on!” Hunt yelled. “What are you idle bastards waiting for? You want to live forever? Rhodes, what's the damned hold-up?”

   “Coming, Corp,” the wayward trooper said, limping with one of his boots askew on his foot, a rucksack dropping from his back by a single strap. Cooper gave him a withering glare before following him onto the shuttle, quickly glancing around to make sure everyone was in position.

   “All equipment stowed,” Hunt said, answering the question he had yet to ask. “The pilot says that we're ready for take off.”

   “Then let's get going,” he said, tapping a control. “Aft section to cockpit. We're ready to go.”

   “Finally,” his wife said. “I've got launch clearance, so hang on to your hats! There's still some active ordnance out there, so I might need to do some fancy maneuvers.”

   A smile on his face, he said, “Can't I get any time for myself, darling?”

   “You think I'm going to let you have all the fun? Strap in.”

   Cooper slid down onto his couch, pulling his restraints into position, and the elevator airlock jerked into life, sending them sliding down through the decks, the atmosphere draining back into the ship's reservoirs as the lower door opened, dropping them free. Alamo loomed large above them, some celestial whale releasing its offspring, and he heard the rumble of the main engine as it kicked them towards their goal.

   These new shuttles were a lot more cramped than the ones he was used to, but they certainly had the edge on speed, and already they seemed to be making serious progress along their course trajectory. He looked down at his datapad, scanning over the limited information they had. More than enough to worry him, but far too little for him to be able to do anything about it. No deck-plan, no threat analysis, no intelligence reports. Just a simple mission objective, to secure the transport.

   “Listen up,” he said, looking around the cabin. “We're on the run with this one, and we don't have anything to prepare us for what we are facing. Remember that we're assuming there are survivors on board, and we expect someone to be waiting for us when we arrive, so don't get trigger-happy. Tactical deployment, and only shoot if you are fired upon.”

   “And if one of our friends does the shooting?” Private Lopez asked. One of the new recruits, recently transferred to his platoon, but a veteran with combat experience in the last war, fifteen years older than the rest. Cooper was surprised that he hadn't been brought in as a non-com, his record not giving him any clue. Maybe it was that cold look in his eyes.

   “That's their problem,” Cooper said. “Don't take any chances. We've got to secure that ship. If someone shoots at you, fire back, but shoot to disable. We're fighting normal humans, we believe, so you know their weak spots. Exploit them.” Glancing up at the weapons locker, he said, “Stick to low-velocity and non-lethal weapons only, and only smoke and tranq grenades. The ship's already been beaten up, and we don't want to make things worse.”

   “We going on in suits?” Hunt asked.

   Shaking his head, he replied, “Our readings suggest that there is a breathable atmosphere over there. Nevertheless, Lopez and Yaskova will suit up and wait in the shuttle. Reinforcements if we need them, and I want a force ready to go out onto the hull if needed. Understood?”

   “Yes, sir,” Yaskova replied, a beaming smile on her face. She'd topped her class in zero-gravity combat, and always relished a chance to show off. Lopez simply nodded, a frown on his face, maybe a trace of a scowl. Something else to file away for future reference.

   “Closing now,” Bradley said, her voice echoing over the loudspeakers. “I've got the first shock for you. The airlock is UN-type. Old, but a standard fit. We're not going to have to use the mating collar, I can just dock as normal.”

   “Interesting,” Cooper said. “Bear that in mind, people, and keep an eye out for anything you recognize. If you have a chance to gather some intelligence, do it, but don't forget we're going into a battle. That takes first priority.” Pulling off his straps, he moved over to the airlock, gesturing for Rhodes to stand next to him. The private's eyes widened for a second, before he rose to his feet and pulled down his rifle.

   Hunt frowned for a second before taking up a position behind him. Rhodes might be a pain in the ass, and had no chance of ever even threatening a promotion, but his reflexes were sharp and his aim good, both qualities that were essential in a boarding action. Cooper pulled out his pistol, spending the last few seconds before contact checking the clip for the third time, making sure it was ready to fire.

   With a loud clang, the shuttle locked onto the side of the transport, and the pressure began to equalize with the other ship, a loud hiss of air filling the vacuum. The monitor light winked three times, then finally flicked green, and the two doors slid open. A foul smell greeted them, and Cooper wrinkled his nose as he stepped through, a man wearing a turquoise uniform waiting for them in the corridor.

   “You from Alamo?” he asked.

   “Ensign Cooper. I have a squad with me.”

   “Good. I'm Captain Zaruk, commander of this craft. We've got enemies in the engineering sections, lower habitation and propulsion control.” He frowned for a second, then said, “The bridge, I think you would call it.”

   Glancing back, Cooper said, “Get in here, everyone. Deploy by fire teams.” Turning to Zaruk, he continued, “We're going to need guides. My people don't know this ship, and we don't know the crew.”

   “I assumed as much. I have people waiting at the terminus to the main corridor.” A smile creeping across his face, he added, “After all, we didn't really know whether you were friendly or not. I didn't want them to take the risk.”

   Cooper liked the man already. “Unless there is a good reason, we'll leave the habitation level until last. I have two fire teams and reinforcements with me, which means two targets. Corporal Hunt?”

   “Sir?” the veteran replied, moving up.

   “You'll take
engineering, I'll take the bridge. First one finished moves on to habitation, unless they decide to surrender and save us the trouble.”

   “No danger of that,” Zaruk said. “Take it from me, these bastards won't surrender. One way or another, they are all dead men. Or we are, depending on who wins.” Private Danus, the Neander assigned to the squad, was the last man out of the shuttle, and the freighter captain took a step backward when he saw him. “What the hell is that?”

   “One of my more experienced troopers,” Cooper replied. “From a planet known as Thule, not far from your own. Is this going to be a problem?”

   “I just…,” he paused, then continued, “I never met an alien before.”

   “You still haven't,” Danus said. “I'm as human as you are.”

   “We can settle this later,” Cooper said. “If you want to take us to your guides, we'll get this over with. Have you managed to lock down the systems?”

   “Temporarily, at least,” Zaruk said, still flashing glances at Danus. “They can probably over-ride it given time, but by then I would expect that we would have all of this cleared up.”

   “Good.”

   Two more crewmen were waiting in the corridor, one of them with his arm in a sling, wearing a flight jacket. Zaruk gestured them forward, and they edged towards the group, both visibly gawking at the Neander.

   “Flight Officer Tarak and Technical Supervisor Ortok,” he said. “Tarak, you will take Ensign Cooper's group to propulsion control.” The wounded man nodded. “I will accompany you, Ortok, with the other group, to engineering.”

   “Are you up to this?” Cooper asked, looking at Tarak.

   “I'll manage,” he replied. “I'd shake your hand, but that might be a little difficult. Two decks up, then a long corridor towards the front of the ship, I'm afraid. Not much in the way of cover.”

   “Enemy weapons?”

   “Nerve guns only,” Tarak replied. “Though you really don't want to get hit by one. Trust me. Some knives, weapons like that, as well.”

   “Slavers as well as pirates,” Zaruk said. “They will take us back to their bases and work us until we die. Trust me, Ensign, I know these bastards of old. This is not the first time I have fought them.”

   “Maybe we can do something about that,” Cooper said. “Lead the way, Flight Officer.”

   Nodding, Tarak headed off down the deck, swinging one-handed from handholds in the ceiling, while Cooper, Danus and Rhodes followed him, weapons at the ready. The ship looked oddly familiar, panels and boards that reminded him of the old ships he had trained on in Basic, though with strange, alien additions that seemed to spring up out of nowhere.

   “You'll have to excuse the Captain,” Tarak said, kicking into a shaft that opened in the side of the corridor. “He's old Fleet, retired to the Merchant Guild. Takes a while to knock the soldier off.”

   “And you?”

   “Oh, I'm a trader born and bred. I've served on this ship my whole career, just like my mother and grandfather before me.”

   A sound of rattling came from above, and Cooper pushed into the lead, aiming his pistol to cover their entrance. A face peered over, and he fired, the recoil hurling him back into the mass of troops behind him, Danus barely bracing himself in time to stop them tumbling down to the lower deck. The scream from above told him that he had hit his target, and Cooper kicked off again, reaching the top in seconds, pushing the body of the pirate out of the way.

   Three figures were hastily trying to assemble a blockade in the corridor, but Cooper's fire team moved first, swimming out into the corridor and taking their shots, a trio of cracks echoing around the walls, each one felling a target. Tarak looked at them, wide-eyed, and shook his head.

   “I've never seen anything like it,” he said.

   “We've had a lot of practice,” Rhodes replied.

   “Far too much,” Cooper added. “In there?”

   Nodding, Tarak pushed through the half-completed barricade, careful to avoid the moaning, wounded pirates, droplets of blood catching on his jumpsuit as he reached the panel. He entered an access code, cursed, and turned around.

   “They've sealed it.”

   “Emergency override?”

   “That's what I just tried. It should open automatically when a deck-rated crewman approaches.” He looked up, tugged at a pair of dangling wires, and said, “Looks like they took out the sensor.”

   “We'll have to blast it,” Cooper said. “Get back behind the barricade, all of you. We might as well use all the cover we can find.”

   “Wait a minute,” Tarak said. “What happens if you damage the ship? There's already enough mess in the lower levels. We've got to complete our mission.”

   “Alamo will help you with the clean-up,” Cooper said, turning to the reluctant crewman. “Right now, this isn't your ship. The pirates have taken it, and I'm trying to get it back for you. Unless you would rather we gave up on this and went back to Alamo.”

   “Just...just be careful. We might not be able to repair the damage.”

   “Relax,” Rhodes said, pulling the wounded man back. “The officer knows what he is doing.”

   Reaching into a pocket, Cooper pulled out an off-white mass, slapping it onto the middle of the hatch, rolling it along the weakest point, before sliding a detonator into position behind it. Rhodes and Danus watched as he worked, guns at the ready in case someone decided to try an ambush. Finally, he nodded.

   “Ten seconds. Keep down. And go in shooting when the dust settles.”

   With a loud report, the explosive went off, shattering the door into twisted, molten metal. Cooper glanced down at his monitors, checking that there was no decompression, while Rhodes took a blind shot into the bridge, firing at a shadow that might have been an enemy. Pushing off, Cooper led the way into the room, careful to avoid the remnants of the door, pistol in hand.

   Waiting for him was a single, quiet figure, looking down at a pair of shattered corpses by the door, riddled with shrapnel. He looked up as Cooper approached, raising his gun with quiet determination, but Danus was first, taking the man down with a carefully placed shot to the shoulder.

   “Get in here and check out the systems,” Cooper said, pulling out his communicator. “Hunt, what's your status?”

   “Looks bad down here, sir,” the grizzled trooper said. “They've got a cross-fire set up, and I haven't got the numbers to work around it.” There was a pause, and he yelled, “Get down, you damn fool!”

   “You need us, Corporal?”

   “I won't say no, sir.”

   “We're on the way.”

   Mitzi looked around the bridge, aghast, and said, “I don't even know where to begin.”

   “Basic ship functions, and work from there. Do you want me to leave someone behind to guard the room?”

   “It sounds as though you need all the help you can get below decks. The shaft we were in before, three decks down. There are two ways into Engineering, and that should take you into the aft entrance. There's a storeroom, which might give you some cover.”

   “Got it,” Cooper said. “Come on, let's move!”

   Hand over hand he swung down the corridor, dropping into the shaft with barely a second glance, quickly sliding a replacement clip into his pistol, tucking the half-used one into his pocket. He wouldn't have a chance to reload in the middle of a firefight, but there wasn't any sense throwing away good ammunition either.

   The bottom level was dark, the lights either flickering or dead entirely. For a second he thought it must have been sabotage, but at closer inspection, it looked more like poor maintenance. Systems had been stripped out, and someone had done a very careful job to make sure nothing else was damaged in the process.

   All the walls were covered in writing, some of it English, others in a language he couldn't understand, something totally unfamiliar. He glanced back at Danus, who shook his head. De
finitely not a Neander dialect. He took a guess, tapping a control to open a door, and was rewarded with a half-empty room, scattered crates around, well-worn tools strapped to equipment racks, spare components all secured in their stowage.

   “Danus, Rhodes, left and right.” He gestured at one of the crates, and said, “I'll take cover here. Get ready.” Pulling out his communicator, he said, “Corporal, we're set on the far side of Engineering. Give them something to think about for a few seconds, and we'll go in shooting.”

   “Will do, sir. Ten seconds, mark.”

   “Mark. Out.”

   He waited at the door, taking deep breaths, counting down the seconds. Ten seconds before Hunt began his attack, maybe another fifteen to allow it to take effect, then they would go in. Rhodes raised his pistol, holding his hand over the control, ready to activate it on his command.

   “Wait for it,” Cooper said. “Wait for it.” Cracks and blasts sounded through the door, barked orders in a strange, alien tongue, and he glanced down at his watch, counting seconds. “Now!”

   Rhodes tapped a button, and the door slammed open, revealing half a dozen men – no women, he hadn't seen any so far – inside, all wearing identical gray jumpsuits, each carrying the same unfamiliar weapon. On instinct, Cooper fired, his first shot taking one of them in the shoulder, Rhodes and Danus both felling their targets, catching them completely by surprise.

   The remaining pirates dived into the nearest cover, one of them heading to what looked suspiciously like a power distribution board, and one that appeared active and working. Without a second thought, Cooper dived forward, determined to reach the man before he could wreak havoc with the ship, firing a round into his leg, the recoil sending him careening into the middle of the corridor. Danus reached out for him, trying to snatch him back, but it was too late. One of the pirates leveled his gun at him, and fired.

   All of his nerves felt as though they were on fire, and he yelled a desperate scream, wracked with spasms of pain, before the world began to fade to black. Just as his eyes closed, he saw his assailant felled with a shot to the chest, blood erupting into the cabin, globules spinning through air.