She grabbed the man once more and pulled him in behind the bar with desperate effort, as Skah thought to close the bar door and put the lid back down. And she grabbed him, and pulled him close as she heard the frosted glass doors not shatter violently, but hum neatly open. As though whatever was on the far side had pressed the entry button.
The metallic clatter came into the room, a sound like a hundred ball bearings bouncing on a polished floor. Accompanying it was a deep, throbbing hum, like a powersource, and the whine of servo motors, like the noise marines in powered armour made when they moved. It came across the floor, and Lisbeth could hear metal feet thudding hard on carpet, then softer as it crawled across leather chairs, then a hard clack as a foot hit a glass tabletop. Lisbeth tried to hold her breath, but her heart was hammering so fast that she had to breathe before her lungs ran out of oxygen. She looked down at Skah, pressed tight against her, and found him just as scared. He was a smart kid, he knew exactly what was in the room with them. He’d seen her studying them, in Romki’s Engineering enclave. His eyes were wide and ears down, as though facing into a strong wind. The wounded spacer closed his eyes, and tried not to groan in pain.
Clatter-clatter-click. It moved past the bar. Movement caught Lisbeth’s eye — high in a corner between wall and ceiling, a piece of angled mirror gave her a clear look at the floor beyond. It was a hacksaw drone all right. The size and mechanical intricacy of it took her breath away. Insects and spiders had nothing on this. At least five pairs of main legs, multi-jointed, some for walking, others for integrated weapons. The rear-quarter pair wielded massive multi-barrelled chain guns, the feeds for which wound cleverly into the big armoured thorax. The big, many-eyed head swivelled, ducked and peered, as though sniffing the air. Smaller arms picked up the torn cushion that Skah had used, and sniffed at the blood on the carpet.
It picked up the sofa, effortlessly, then with little inner arms whipped out a tool and emitted a bright flash. The sofa came apart in smoke and burned leather, and the drone sniffed the insides, as though suspecting someone might have been hiding there. That cutter was how they got through the walls, Lisbeth thought. And different drones were differently equipped. A group would mix weapons and tools for the best balance, like a marine platoon’s mix of riflemen and heavies.
Then it paused, as though realising something, and turned to look. Straight at the mirror. Straight at Lisbeth. Because of course, Lisbeth realised in horror — reflections went both ways, and if she could see it, it could see her. But it hesitated, staring, as though uncertain what it saw. Why was it waiting?
Something thudded into a wall, and the drone leaped back, its huge thorax elevating as paired chain guns levelled and howled in spinning preparation to fire… and a huge explosion knocked it sideways, as whatever had hit the wall detonated late. Gunfire followed, the unmistakable thunder of a Koshaim-20, and Lisbeth glimpsed drone debris flying, a weapon arm falling, the big machine staggering then returning fire with a roaring hail of bullets, spent cartridges spraying across the room, rattling off the bar-top and bottles. Another explosion, and more gunfire, and the drone leaped and scuttled with incredible speed, smashed the frosted glass doors and was gone.
A pause, then footsteps, then, “Clear!” A human voice, and familiar. “Watch it! Clear that corridor, it hasn’t gone far!” Corporal Penn, Lisbeth realised.
“We’re back here!” she shouted. “We’ve got one wounded, you’ve got to carry him!” She staggered upright, and then a thud as Carla slid over the bar. Not wasting time, she grabbed the wounded spacer and lifted him effortlessly onto the bar for another heavy-armoured marine to grab and take away. Lisbeth wished she could have lifted him like Carla.
“Come on, go,” said Carla, and Lisbeth scrambled over the bar, Skah following. The room beyond was smoke-filled and torn by shrapnel and gunfire, one wall aflame and localised fire retardant spraying down, several more marines up by the broken doors where the drone had come, even now laying down cover fire.
Lisbeth jumped down and helped Skah, who didn’t need it, then “Down!” yelled a marine by the doorway as something hit further up, and Vijay grabbed and hustled her for the door as an explosion rocked the corridor. Both marines were up and firing back up the corridor immediately, and Lisbeth looked back as Carla jumped the bar… and was hit by a roar of chain gun fire from up the corridor, disintegrating bar, wood panels and bodyparts in all directions.
Lisbeth screamed as Vijay rushed her at the door, yelling “Go, go!”, marines behind laying down fire and swearing furiously. A side wall exploded, and again the howl of laser cutters.
“Marines!” Corporal Penn bellowed. “Pull back! Pull the fuck back now!” And then Lisbeth was running up the way she’d come, Skah alongside as Vijay hustled her along, heavy armour thudding behind as gunfire roared.
“Oh my god Carla!” Lisbeth sobbed.
“She’s gone, now move!”
There were more marines in the main accommodation corridor now, and Vijay made no more for the stairwells, as it looked like reinforcements had arrived. Lisbeth ducked amidst the armoured bodies, the shouts and yells, the thunderous retort of guns as marines expanded this perimeter. Smoke was overwhelming the ventilation fans, forming a choking blanket at the ceiling, and nearby explosions and splintering shrapnel clanged at random off steel wall frames.
At the dock, Lisbeth could see the difference immediately — there were marines all along the far wall between Berth 19 and 20, using parked jeeps and other vehicles for cover. Many were heavies, and they were laying down the most incredible barrage of fire on the upper levels overlooking the high dock, chain guns howling on massive arm supports, rapid cannon thudding, explosions from above sending debris falling down like rain. Some of those vehicles were commandeered for more ammunition — Lisbeth had seen the ammo crates stacked in the Phoenix main corridor and wondered at the point of it. Well here was the point, being expended at a hundred rounds a second at the upper dock levels.
“Yo Lisbeth!” announced Lieutenant JC Crozier in her stomping great armour rig — she seemed to be in command of this stretch, and had scorch marks on her rifle’s muzzle from all the firing. “And Furball, good! Corporal Penn, you got her?”
“I got her sir,” Penn confirmed as he arrived behind. “Hacksaws behind at accommodation ground level, we lost Lisbeth’s other bodyguard.”
“Right, stay up against the inner wall, you’re going to have to run it,” Crozier said, indicating up the dock with one arm. “Can’t spare a vehicle at the moment. Beware of falling debris, we’ve got good cover on the floors above you but be careful of the lower deck trapdoors, we’ve blasted a couple of them but there may be more. That was how the fuckers were getting up beneath us before — you good?”
“Good sir!” said Penn.
“Go!” And Vijay grabbed Lisbeth and they set off running once more, negotiating about a jeep coming the other way up the inner wall, with empty stretchers on the back. They must have been evacuating remaining wounded via the jeeps, Lisbeth thought — thus they had none available for those who could move themselves. No doubt the wounded spacer would be brought back that way.
Lisbeth wanted to grab Skah’s hand, but the little kuhsi was running far more easily than her, dodging bits of fallen wreckage on the decking… and here ahead, wedged into the devastated remains of a shopfront, a huge insectoid hulk, shredded and holed at least sixty times to be sure, legs protruding at broken, ungainly angles. Skah stared as he ran — they all did… and ducked as something new shrieked and whistled behind. Missiles, as heavy sections unleashed more firepower on the upper levels, then huge thuds as the whole rim seemed to shake, and a storm of wreckage came falling down.
On the deck plating before Berth 19 lay a stream of dropped things — duffel bags, shoes, uniform caps. Amidst them, smearing the decking, were bloodstains. Phoenix crew, running from the accommodation block, must have been caught in the open. Oh god.
Her lungs were burning from the effo
rt as Berth 18 appeared ahead, up against the lowered section seal that blocked off the entire dock from the under-construction rim on the far side. More vehicles here were leaving, and marines were thick in the inner-rim corridors to her right — there was less firing at the upper levels, and Lisbeth guessed they had marines occupying those levels physically, to avoid any direct threat to the Phoenix berth.
Skah took off on a diagonal across the docks to reach the Berth, and Vijay yelled at him, then Lance Corporal Penn. Skah looked back, and saw them gesturing to keep along the inner wall, which he did reluctantly. The middle of the dock, far away from cover, was where the bloodstains were. They passed a mangled and bloodied armour suit, broken open and its occupant removed. And on the right, another corridor and some barabo dockworkers, terrified and begging the marines blocking the way. Another marine, limping in his damaged suit, waving off assistance with his visor up and determined pain on his face.
They ran until directly opposite the berth, then were waved in by marines there, covering behind vehicles and empty ammo boxes. One of them stood out, yelling orders, surrounded by a small group that ran to and from, conveying messages verbally now that coms weren’t working. Several were aiming armour-mounted lasers up the curving dock — lasercom, Lisbeth realised, allowing some distance communication until the station curve blocked it. There was no affirmation from Major Thakur as Skah or Lisbeth passed, just more orders, and an attitude of general displeasure, all expression hidden behind the fearsome armoured visor. But Lisbeth was incredibly relieved to see her, because she’d been on the Worlder ship with Erik, and if she was back safe, no doubt Erik was as well.
She stopped to gasp for air at the ramp, and Vijay walked with her. Skah kept running into the main airlock, and that was fine, onboard he was safe and knew where to go — doubtless now to find his mother.
“Thanks Corporal,” Vijay said to Penn. “How are the others?”
“Bernie’s dead,” Penn said grimly. “Herman’s hurt bad, I left Ruiz to guard them with the Echo Platoon reinforcements. Gotta go.” He turned and left, first to report to the Major, then no doubt to find his section once more. He’d left them to come after her, Lisbeth realised. There was no harder thing for any marine leader to do, particularly with wounded — but he’d been tasked to protect her, and the reinforcements had arrived to take care of his casualties. Had that not happened, Lisbeth was pretty sure he’d not have come at all… and she, Skah and the spacer whose name she still didn’t know, would be dead.
19
“LC,” came Trace’s voice on coms, “I can give you a two minute warning for departure! I’ve still got some stragglers coming in, but we are two minutes to go!” The engineers had been out on the dock under fire, physically laying cable so Phoenix could talk to her marines. Still they were mystified as to how all the coms were being jammed, with explanations that ranged from unseen new jamming tech to full corruption of Joma Station’s wired and wireless systems with viruses or nanomites. Erik wasn’t particularly interested — he just needed to talk to Trace without having to physically send runners sprinting through the corridors.
“Tell me the moment we are clear to leave.”
“Aye sir, we also have about a hundred barabo stationers requesting evacuation. It’ll take another thirty seconds, we’ve got them bunched up ready to go.”
“Helm, can we fit them?”
“Aye sir,” said Shahaim, fully fastened into her chair, hands on sticks with full systems displays racing across her lowered visor. “We can fit them.”
“Major, that’s a go with the barabo.”
“Aye sir.” It was probably a dumb move, Erik thought, but it wasn’t a dangerous one, and he didn’t have time to second guess himself right now. Up the right end of the bridge, Second Lieutenant Harris was exchanging terse conversation with Second Lieutenant Corrig from second-shift, who was filling in for Lieutenant Karle on Arms. Every few seconds Phoenix’s closer range cannons hammered away, and defensive anti-missiles destroyed incoming hacksaw warheads. The damage they could do to Phoenix was minimal, with most of their numbers concentrated inside the station, but if they missed an incoming drone, and that drone found a soft spot on the outer hull and started cutting, things could get real interesting real fast. PH-3 and 4 were holding position off Phoenix’s stern and adding their own firepower and perspective to anything coming at the ship.
“Scan, status on those inbound marks.”
“Sir, all five are still in combat formation,” Geish replied. “They have marginally gained V, ETA now twenty-two minutes to station intercept.” Those marks had appeared on scan just before Erik had arrived back on Phoenix. Now the game was clear — the station ambush to try and bog Phoenix down, get her tied up in station operations, recovering crew off the dock and unable to immediately withdraw. And then jump in with the warships. They looked like sard, probably the same sard that had tried to kill them earlier — the vector suggested Gala-eighty-eight, their last known location. Only now there were two more of them.
“So we’re just going to leave Joma Station?” Kaspowitz said warily.
“No choice,” said Erik. “Can’t even coordinate a defence with this jamming, and even Makimakala doesn’t seem to know where it’s coming from.”
“Four million people on Joma,” Kaspowitz added.
“I know,” Erik said grimly. “Nothing we can do. If the hacksaws are working with the sard, maybe they’ll get withdrawn when these warships arrive.” A big if, with four million lives on station. Local security was relatively unarmed, and hacksaws were relentless. His best guesstimate on observations so far was at least five hundred drones on station, of which they’d killed perhaps fifty. Primarily it was Phoenix and Makimakala under attack, it didn’t seem as though station bridge or other keypoints were being assaulted… although that might follow once Phoenix and Makimakala left. “I don’t think they’re after the station, I think they’re after us. Best thing we can do for station is leave.”
“Aye sir,” said Kaspowitz. “I have the escape course locked in, we’ll have to pulse it real close on the gravity slope but it’s doable. Almost no margin whatsoever with our pursuit, it’s going to be tight.”
“Isn’t it always?” Erik muttered, and flipped to the landline again. “Major, we recalculated and we cannot take those barabo stationers, incoming marks are too hot.”
“Aye sir, I’ll keep them out.”
He probably just sentenced them all to die, Erik knew. But Phoenix would have to push real hard to make close Rhea orbit and pick up PH-1 ahead of those sard ships. The marines would hit the nearest available acceleration slings, there were plenty along the main-quarter corridor for exactly that purpose… but not enough for a hundred barabo, not before Phoenix undocked and got the crew cylinder rotating again, and then finding a hundred spare slings for barabo guests would take more minutes, and get them all killed when the sard arrived. And a 10-G push without acceleration slings would get all the barabo killed anyway. Better to take their chances with the hacksaws, and hope the machines were only interested in killing Phoenix. Doubtless the barabo wouldn’t see it that way.
“Sir!” called Geish. “Makimakala is leaving! She is pulling back hard.”
“Copy,” said Erik, gazing at his screens and visor overlay holographics. Between them he had a pretty good 3D picture of the space surrounding Joma — most of the ships that could leave had already left, but Rai Jang remained in close proximity, just nine-K parallel with her two flanking station defence ships. All three had been closer-in earlier, blasting away at what few hacksaws they could see traversing the outside. With no marine complements, it was all they could do to contribute, but now they’d seen the incoming sard and no doubt wondered if they ought to run as well. With no coms, Erik could not ask their intentions, and all remained on station farside and unreachable by direct lasercom. “Coms, get me lasercom on Makimakala as soon as you get line-of-sight.”
“Yessir.”
“L
C, we are onboard and locked away!” Trace said in his ear. “Clear to depart in ten seconds!”
“Sir, Makimakala is attempting lasercom contact!” Shilu called.
“Hatch locked, grapples green,” Shahaim added. “Clear to depart.”
“Nineteen point three, get that fucker,” Harris told Corrig, and weapons thumped as another drone died.
“Standby on lasercom,” Erik told Shilu as his mental countdown from Trace’s mark approached zero. Hit zero, and undocked hard, bow thrusters kicking their heads forward. “Operations, shuttle recovery, the timer is on.”
“Copy LC, shuttle recovery is on the timer.” Lieutenant Hausler could get back to grapples in less than twenty seconds from here. Erik let Phoenix drift back from station, careful not to hit thrust while the shuttles got back aboard.
“Lasercom connect, sir I have Makimakala.”
And Shilu put the tavalai warship through without being told. “Phoenix this is Captain Pram of Makimakala, intentions?” Damn he spoke good English, Erik thought. Tavalai were always so damn civilised.
“Makimakala this is LC Debogande, we have a shuttle on Vola Station with urgent business, we are heading on hard intercept.”
“PH-4 is aboard,” said Ops — sixteen seconds, holy shit Tif.
“Phoenix we will run cover for you, stay in touch.”
“PH-3 is aboard,” said Ops — twenty-one seconds, not bad Jersey, she was a little out of practise.
Erik hit the mains with a huge roar that kicked them all back in their seats, 6-Gs and building steadily as the engines warmed. “Makimakala thank you for your offer, much appreciated.” As 7-Gs built to 10, and breathing became hard, and speech near-impossible.
“Is that a good idea?” Shahaim formulated.
“Soon find out,” Erik formulated back, watching his near-scan holographics, as Joma Station slid by to one side at a steadily accelerating rate. And here came Makimakala, following at not quite the thrust — not that she didn’t possess it, Erik suspected, but because she was going to fall back into a cover position.
Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) Page 25