Behind him, Murphy was scrambling to catch up, Ryan spinning around in a belated attempt to follow. The reserve formation were too far behind, and with the shuttle forcing itself to full power, were only dropping further back. He cursed himself for his shortsightedness, but there was no time to second-guess himself.
Reaching across to the thruster controls, he prepared for a final evasive kick. It was unlikely that the Xandari pilot would settle for anything less than a collision with the assault shuttle, but if he could spoil his attack run, twelve missions would guarantee that he wouldn't get another try. He watched the trajectory plot, making minute adjustments to his course, nothing else in his universe other than his fighter and the shuttle.
Warning alerts rang throughout the cockpit, the guidance computer screaming that he was making a fatal mistake, but he silenced them with the tap of a button, watching as the seconds trickled down. The Xandari pilot pressed on, and somehow he knew that he wasn't going to alter course.
“Leader, evade!” Murphy yelled. “I've got a firing solution!”
Instinct took over, and he slammed his fighter into a sharp turn as Murphy released her last remaining missile, the enemy shuttle having no time to evade, barely a chance to contemplate his demise as the warhead caught him amidships, leaving only a cascade of wreckage flying through space.
“Nice shooting,” Salazar said. “Maybe you might make a fighter pilot yet. Leader to Shuttle, the path is clear. Go get 'em.”
Chapter 2
Cooper paused at the airlock, waiting for the shuttle to glide into position by the refinery airlock. The mission they were about to attempt was as far from routine as he would ever care to go, an assault by inferior numbers into a killing zone against a prepared, ruthless enemy. Boarding actions were always hazardous, usually yielding high casualties, but this time they simply didn't have a choice. If the mission was to be completed, they needed to take the refinery before the Xandari could destroy it, and they needed to do it while inflicting minimal damage.
He looked around at the waiting troopers, the best men he had, hand-picked for the mission. Back on Alamo, and dispersed around the rest of the fleet, he had a short company under his command, but far too few of them had received the training his Espatiers had. Veterans, yes. Combat-capable, yes. But for this sort of a battle, something more was needed.
“All ready, sir,” Lance-Sergeant Hunt, a Corporal when their mission had started, said. He moved in beside Cooper, a grim smile on his face. The first two into the combat zone would take the brunt of whatever hell the enemy was planning to throw at them, and there was no way that the seasoned warrior would allow anyone else to take that position of honor.
Behind them, the rest of the squad lined up, rifles in hand and plasma pistols at their belts, under orders only to use those devastating weapons unless there was no other choice. They needed to capture this refinery intact, not smash it to its component atoms. Another usual element of boarding actions, the destruction of large areas of the target.
“Harper,” Cooper said, “You stay at the back with Donegan. Don't come in until we've at least secured a beachhead and found a terminal for you to hack. Understand?”
The hacker glared at him, and replied, “Whatever you say, Gabe.” He smiled in reply, knowing that she was a better shot than half of his men, but she had skills that he had to protect. She was the only person they had with sufficient knowledge of Xandari computer networks to have even a fighting chance of cracking into their systems in the time required.
“In position in thirty seconds,” Acting Lieutenant Barbara Bradley, his wife, said, taking a position at the end of the column, rifle in hand. “And I'm coming for the ride, like it or not.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he replied with a smile, hefting his weapon in his hands. He took one last look around at his squad, visually checking their suit armor, their rifles. All of them knew their job well enough not to make any stupid mistakes, but he couldn't help but think that if this went wrong, the rest of the company would be in a rather sorry state.
Of the thirty-two Espatiers in his platoon when Alamo left Yeager Station, eighteen months ago, only seventeen were alive today, and two of those were facing medical discharges when they got back to the Confederation, confined to the ship on doctor's orders. He'd managed to reinforce his strength through recruitment along the way, more than half of the Espatiers in his platoon were Neander either from Thule or from the Free Peoples, but that still left him short of experienced troopers.
The result of that was that his hand-picked squad was inevitably rank-heavy. Almost every survivor from the original platoon was now at least nominally a squad leader, and Hunt was a platoon commander in his own right, rejecting the battlefield commission he'd been offered for the role. His attack force had two Lance-Sergeants, four Corporals, three Lance-Corporals and a General, the gruff leader of the Free Peoples, Kelot, who had insisted on coming along for the ride.
“Ten seconds to green light,” he said, looking at the forward hatch. He tapped a series of controls to drain the atmosphere from the cabin, then opened the double airlock doors with the emergency override, the shadow of the station leaking inside as the shuttle cruised alongside. Unlike most of the facilities they had encountered, the Xandari appeared to have designed the refinery themselves, a primitive collection of modules and framework that looked as though it belonged in a museum, not as a key strategic facility of a major interstellar power.
Unfortunately, that also meant that the shuttle couldn't dock conventionally, and that they were going to have to get onto the station the old-fashioned way. Spacewalking. With a major fleet battle raging not ten thousand miles away, and the risk that one of the Xandari warships could double back at any moment.
“Who came up with this crazy plan, anyway,” he muttered.
“You did, sir,” Hunt replied, a wry smile on his face. “Relax, boss. Your crazy plans usually work. Usually.”
“Optimist,” he said. “Green light! Let's go!”
His suit thrusters fired, following a preset series of instructions, sending him gently gliding through the airlock, then on with more force towards the looming mass of the station ahead. Any ideas he had about the internal layout were purely guesswork. The Xandari were as alien a species as he had ever encountered, despite their common ancestry with human and Neander. Given the function the station served, though, there had to be at least some logical pattern to the design.
As best he could determine from the all-too-brief opportunity he had to study it, the station had a single long pressurized corridor running along its whole length, huge fuel tanks connected as modules along the fringes, with the manned compartments in the middle. A similar facility in Triplanetary space would have a working crew of around fifteen. It was anyone's guess how many the Xandari would use, but he knew that they would all be warriors, all ready to fight, kill and die for their cause. Thus far, no matter what the context, he had yet to meet any Xandari he could classify as a civilian.
He reached out for the airlock, sliding a safety line into position, and took a cursory look at the alien controls. There was no obvious way of opening the lock, but he hadn't really expected to find one. With Hunt sliding in by his side, he pulled out his plasma pistol, anchored himself carefully into position with a handhold and fired, the burst of green flame slamming into the door, melting the metal and sending shards of debris flying away, puffs of atmosphere coming with it.
Waiting just long enough for the internal pressure to fade to nothing, he peered inside, the compartment no different from any other airlock space. Again, there was no obvious control, and this time the results of breaking in would be far more explosive. Gesturing for the rest of the squad to stay out of the way, he carefully adjusted the settings on his plasma pistol, reached it around into the hole, and fired, instantly withdrawing his hand as the bolt raced free, snatching his weapon back.
Th
is time, a fountain of air burst away as the airlock doors burst open, carrying a trio of bodies with it, Xandari soldiers, one of them partially into his spacesuit. Cooper gently slid out of the way as they drifted clear, doomed to drift through space forever, then peered inside, swinging his body through the gap he had drilled into the outer doors.
The space between the hatches was a burned-out ruin, the path to the corridor beyond clear. His actions had bought some time, but they had to move, and move quickly. Firing a quick burst of his suit thrusters to drift inside, he slid his plasma pistol back into its holster and took his rifle in his hands as he gently slid into the corridor, looking from side to side, watching for an ambush. Hunt followed, and they advanced down the passage with the rest of the squad following, Bradley kicking off one of the walls to speed her way, moving to Cooper's side.
“Wolmar, take Nash and McBride and head down the other way. First one to find an active terminal brings in Harper. We're fighting seconds, so move fast. As soon as we've got what we came for, we get out of here.”
“Do we need to set charges, sir?” Wolmar asked.
“I think the Xandari will deal with that little detail for us, Sergeant.” As the three troopers slid down the corridor, Cooper pressed on, to what he hoped was the control complex. They drifted past giant hatches, maintenance access to the titanic fuel tanks slung by the side of the station, each more than large enough to refuel every ship they had. He glanced at one of them, wondering if there was any way to salvage the complex, but he shook his head. By now, there could easily be a countdown under way.
“Alamo to Cooper,” Orlova said. “Status?”
“We're in, Captain, and moving down the central corridor now. How are things with you?”
“Let's just say that I don't think you need to worry about any unexpected guests. We've got full control of orbital space, and there's still no sign of anything anywhere else in the system.” She paused, then said, “I've got shuttles standing by with fighter escort to pick you up. Watch yourself, Lieutenant. The whole mission is riding on this. Alamo out.”
“No pressure, then,” Bradley said, shaking her head. “She just wishes she was over here with us. Must be murder sitting up there on the bridge.”
“I'd swap,” Hunt replied. “Looks like we're almost there.”
Nodding, Cooper pushed on, past the last of the large hatches, into an obviously well-used compartment. Here the paintwork was old, peeling away, text worn from constant use, scuff-marks on the walls and floors where countless technicians had worked over the years. Cooper turned to the squad, then felt himself being thrown back, alerts flooding across his helmet as the force of escaping air hurled him at a wall, sending him recoiling away. All around, his squad was tossed hither and thither as the menacing shapes of the Xandari soldiers drifted into the corridor, weapons in hand.
A bolt of green flame raced through the mass of bodies, by a miracle missing the squad and slamming into the lead Xandari. Cooper looked around as his suit struggled to stabilize, and saw Corporal Rhodes, pistol in hand, a disbelieving smile on his face.
The lucky shot had bought them the seconds they needed to rally, and two more carefully aimed plasma bolts smashed into the advancing enemy formation, the searing flames enveloping them. Tentatively, Cooper drifted forward, slow on his suit thrusters, and peered into the compartment from whence they had emerged, complex controls and instruments inside.
“We've found it!” he said. “Harper, get in on the double and start your hack. Rhodes, Faulkner, cover her, just in case they've managed another surprise.”
“I make ten bodies, sir,” Hunt said. “We might have got the whole complement.” He paused, then added, “Lieutenant, they had a good idea but the execution was lousy. Worse than we'd expect.”
“I know,” Cooper replied. “Either we're catching a break for once, or we're finally working our way through their front-line units. They couldn't have expected anyone to attack this installation, or they'd have done a hell of a lot more to protect it.” Shaking his head, he said, “Maybe we actually have found a weak spot.” Gesturing up the corridor, he said, “Move forward and set up a defensive perimeter. I'd better wait for Harper.”
“Yes, sir,” Hunt said, drawing two more of the troopers forward as he pushed towards the far end of the station, eyes darting from side to side into the empty compartments. As far as Cooper could see, the Xandari had opened every hatch on the station at once, risked exposing the whole installation to vacuum in a bid to flush out the troopers. It was a technician's trick, not a soldier's. And proved that they'd given up any hope of holding onto the refinery.
“Alamo to Cooper,” Orlova said. “We're picking up some signs of instability in the station's reactor. Slowly building power curve. Jack Quinn suspects that we're looking at a destruct sequence in progress. What's your status?”
Looking back towards the airlock, Cooper said, “Harper's coming up now, Captain. Do we have any sort of a timeframe to work with?”
“Three minutes at least.”
“Have the shuttles stand by for pick-up.” Tapping a control on his sleeve, he said, “Cooper to Assault Squad. Time to go. Get to the nearest airlock on the double. That's a direct order.” Turning to Harper, he asked, “Kris, we've got two minutes minus.”
“Let me at the controls,” she said, pushing past him into the room, swinging a holdall in her hand. She dived for the console, tugging equipment out of her bag and hastily setting it up, sliding a custom-designed cable into a data-port. “Give me a hundred seconds to establish the link.”
Rhodes loitered at the hatch, and Cooper said, “Get out, Corporal. That's an order.”
“How are you going to make it out, sir?”
“Never mind that. I'll think of something. Just get moving, on the double, and have the shuttles clear the station as soon as the rest of the squad is on board. I don't want any risk of them getting hit by the debris. Now move, soldier!”
For a second, Cooper thought Rhodes would disobey, but the trooper reluctantly ducked down the corridor, another shape drifting past after him, the last member of the assault team fleeing the doomed facility. They'd taken a risk launching the attack at all, and now it looked as though it all might have been for nothing.
He turned back to Harper, watching the hacker quickly and carefully assemble her equipment, setting up the transmitter to dump the data back to Alamo, tugging at the connector to make certain that it was secure. Looking up at the top of his heads-up display, he saw the telemetry feed from the ship, the reactor getting closer and closer to a catastrophic end. He was no engineer, but even he could tell that the end was imminent.
“How long?” he asked.
“Thirty seconds,” she replied. “Time for you to figure us a way out of here.”
“Don't worry about that,” he said. “Just get that datastream set up. Can you dump all the data in time?”
“Depends how long we get,” she said, her fingers dancing across the controls. “We're streaming at about a gigabyte a second. Lousy pickup with all the debris flying around.”
“It's going to get a hell of a lot worse in the very near future.” He pulled out his plasma pistol, drifting to the corridor, and looked up at the ceiling, trying to find a clear spot. His memory of the exterior was scanty at best, and they'd only have a single try to get this right.
“Bradley to Cooper. I'm standing by near the airlock.”
“Get moving, damn it!” he replied. “I'll never get to you in time. Don't worry, I've already got another way out. You should be able to pick me up in a couple of minutes.”
“The station won't be there in a couple of minutes.”
“Have a little faith,” he replied with a smile. “And ask Hunt about my crazy ideas.”
“Done, Gabe!” Harper said, ducking out of the compartment. “The datastream is about as good as it's going to get.”
“Fasten your safety line to me, and tie your thruster controls to my suit. Then hang on.” As she slammed the connector into place, he raised his pistol to the ceiling, took one last look at the power settings, and fired, melting a jagged hole, red metal fragments flying in all directions. Jamming his finger down on the thruster controls, he fired a quick pulse to drag them clear, then set them to burn their collective fuel on one long blast, the refinery falling away beneath them as they flew to safety.
They had no way of knowing how much time they had to make their escape, only that there would be a large explosion in the very near future. Cooper's sensor display showed the shuttles racing for safety, all but one, likely with his wife at the controls, swinging around on an intercept course.
“Critical!” a voice yelled in his ear, and the station beneath them erupted, brief tissues of flame dancing through the hull breaches as the reactor went critical, a blinding pulse of white light reducing the mass of the station to a billion drifting fragments, a rapidly dispersing debris field. Warning lights lit up on his suit, alerting him to potential collisions in the near future, but his thrusters continued to fire, he and Harper hurled clear of the blast radius just as the fuel ran dry.
“I guess that's a wrap,” he said, shaking his head. “Alamo, how much data did you get?”
“About a quarter terabyte,” Orlova replied. “We'll just have to hope that it's enough. Bradley, you might as well swing around and pick up our wayward children. I'm calling a full staff meeting in an hour, and I don't think either of you are going to want to miss it.”
Chapter 3
Lieutenant-Captain Margaret Orlova waited for the elevator to reach its destination, for once not in a hurry for it to arrive. She looked down at the datapad in her hand, rubbing a sweaty palm on her trousers. Over the years, she'd fought battles all over this part of the galaxy, both on the bridge of a starship and in close-quarters combat, but somehow she had never felt as nervous as she did right now. Once she committed to this mission, there was no going back.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Orbit Page 2