“That include you?” one of the technicians asked.
She walked up to him, face to face, and said, “Listen, you pathetic little maggot, the only reason you are here at all is because all the real soldiers are crewing Polaris. You and I are expendable. Nobody's going to give a damn whether or not we live or die, but there are a lot of people counting on the mission to succeed. Don't be under any illusions. If the only way to get through to that command center was to shoot you in the back, I'd do it without a second thought.” Looking around the group, she continued, “And I would expect each and every one of you do to the same to me if that is what it takes. Got that? We've got to push this attack home, or...”
“Suffering Christ!” the pilot said. “Three Starcruisers just jumped into the system! All bearing directly on Polaris, and they're launching fighters. A hundred and eight of them.”
“I think that's what's called a target-rich environment,” Cordova said, belatedly backing Saxon up. “None of that is going to matter if we can get those satellites under control. We've got our job, and we've got our orders, and we can leave our new friends out there to Commander Curtis.”
“Thirty seconds, people,” Saxon said. “Weapons hot, and get your masks on. And make damn sure that your ear-buds are working, and that they're able to pick up our tactical net. No point you all walking through sonic pulses if you can't hear what's going on outside.” As she reached for her mask, she turned to Cordova, and said, “Thanks.”
“Had to be said,” Cordova replied, checking her rifle one last time. All of them were well-equipped, taking full advantage of the weapons inherited from Polaris' strike teams. Military-spec armor, rifles, sonic grenades. Having the equipment, though, didn't mean they knew how to use it. It was the same basic team that she'd used last time, a collection of dispensable technicians and other personnel, only the menacing form of Dixon are the rear, looking at the makeshift strike force with barely-disguised contempt.
“I meant what I said before,” Saxon replied. “Stick close to me. Dixon's staying with us as well. We've got the best chance of making it into the control room.”
Looking at the squad, Cordova said, “You're writing them off before we even board the station? If you feel that way...”
“Don't be naive. Most of the people in this shuttle are going to be dead in the next few minutes, and I include myself in that. One of the three of us has to get to that control panel, whatever else happens, because we're the only ones with the skills to use it.” Reaching into a pocket, she passed her a datarod, and said, “My last will and testament. All you've got to do is slide it into one of the access relays, and you should have all the access you need. I've still got a few friends on this station. Some of my passwords will still work.” As the hull of Sinaloa moved closer, she looked at it, and said, “Strange. Like coming home after a long holiday.”
“This is home?”
“It'll do until I find something better. Meaning I'd rather it wasn't ripped to pieces today.” Moving to the hatch, she said, “Five seconds! Form up!” Glancing at Cordova, she asked, “Want to join me at the threshold?”
“Isn't that the most dangerous place?”
“If I've done my job right, we'll be stepping out into an empty corridor.”
“And if you haven't?”
“Then I'll die of embarrassment, if nothing else. Lock and load. And watch what you're shooting. Both people and equipment. Only take a shot if you know a bad guy's going to die after you pull the trigger. If you're in any doubt, stick to non-lethal force. A civilian can get over a headache a lot easier than they'll get over a bullet in the gut.” Glancing at Cordova, she added, “Remember that we're supposed to be the good guys.”
The shuttle slammed into position, breaking thrusters firing at the final second as it locked to the entry hatch, vents hissing to rapidly equalize the pressure and force the door open. Cordova tensed, raising her rifle to fire, but as Saxon had hoped, the corridor beyond was empty. Wasting no time, they rushed inside, sprinting to the safety of cover at the junction ahead as sirens wailed all around them, voices warning of intruders on the lower deck.
“Weissman,” Saxon ordered, “Cover this corridor. Wait ninety seconds, then come after us. Someone will give you covering fire if you need it. The rest, with me!” A crowd was beginning to gather in the corridor, curious faces emerging from offices and closed storefronts as the rebel force raced to its destination, trying to make the central shaft before local security could close it down, or worse, send in reinforcements. Cordova looked around, expecting enemy troops to move into their flanks at any minute, ready to launch an ambush, but much to her surprise, they made it to the controls without opposition, Saxon frantically entering in one access code after another to release the doors.
“Come on,” Saxon said, pounding the keypad. “Come on.”
“Company coming!” Dixon yelled, gesturing to a side passage. “Drones in the air. Troops close behind.”
“Take cover!” Cordova said, tipping a stall to the ground, sending disposable tourist trash flying in all directions as she knelt behind the makeshift barricade, leveling her rifle at the corridor beyond. The last time she'd led troops into battle, it had been with a makeshift collection of weapons, and the enemy forces had been given an easy advantage. This time, they were fighting on fair terms. Perhaps better. ColSec was often at the back of the queue for the latest hardware. Much of their equipment would be of the same vintage as that borrowed from Polaris.
The first bullets slammed into the front of her stall before she could react, black-uniformed troops racing forward, their comrades providing suppressing fire from the rear. The few civilians that had remained in the concourse ran for the safety of their rooms, shops slamming their pressure doors shut to isolate themselves from the chaos taking place outside.
Saxon remained at the elevator controls, desperately working the mechanism, trying to release the doors as bullets slammed into the wall all around her. Cordova lined up a shot, carefully marking her target, and gently squeezed the trigger. No dumb-shot this time. The bullet guided itself towards the ColSec guard, slamming into his armor with sufficient force to trigger the shaped charge, ripping through the plastoform shell and digging into his chest, the man dropping to the ground, screaming in agony as his comrades raced over him, surging in a mass towards the embattled rebel forces.
“Got it!” Saxon yelled, and the doors slid open. “Get in here, right now!”
Cordova looked across at the struggling battle line, rebel and ColSec bodies strewn across the deck, and hurled a pair of sonic grenades into the space between the warring factions, using the brief second of distraction to rush for the elevator, pushing another rebel ahead of her as a bullet cracked into the deck by her feet. Dixon had moved more quickly, holding the door open long enough for two others to pass through, finally releasing it to send the elevator on its way.
“We've left...”
“Three dead, two wounded, five others,” Saxon said. “They knew the risk. If they're smart, they'll either surrender or make for the corridors. There's nothing we can do for them right now.” She frowned, and said, “They were waiting for us. Had to be.”
“You couldn't have made a mistake?” Cordova replied.
“Not with three Starcruisers entering the system. They've turned it around, turned our surprise attack into an ambush.” She looked across at Dixon, and added, “We're going to have to push through regardless.”
“We could make it to a shuttle dock from here,” Dixon said.
“Three ships,” Cordova replied. “If we can bring them down, we'll cripple the Federation Deep Space Fleet in a single battle.”
“You know the odds on that?” Dixon retorted.
“Not good,” she said, “but a hell of a lot better than the alternative.” Cordova looked around at the others in the elevator, one of them wrapping a bandage around a
wound on his arm. At her glance, he shook his head with a smile.
“Shrapnel,” he replied. “I'll survive.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” Saxon said. “More importantly, can you fight?”
“I'll keep up,” he said. At her sour expression, he added, “Look, Major, it hurts like all bloody hell, but I can still fire my rifle, and we've got too many bad guys up ahead for you to start getting picky about who you want to keep on your team!”
Abruptly, Saxon tugged at the control panel, and the elevator stopped, caught between the levels. She pumped the emergency release to open the doors, gesturing for the group to make their way into the narrow crawlspace beyond.
“Come on,” she said. “We're two levels below the command center, and right now there will be about a hundred people up top.” Gesturing at Cordova, she added, “Take point. I'll be along.”
Waving her rifle dangerously at Saxon, she replied, “What do you mean?”
“I've got something else to do, and I've got to do it alone.” She looked at Cordova, sighed, and said, “I know that trust doesn't exactly come easy, but you're going to have to accept that I'm on your side. If we've got any way of getting through this in one piece and completing our objective, then we have to move. Now. You know the way, so take command!”
“This isn't over, Saxon,” Cordova replied. “Follow me, everyone!”
She led the group into the narrow crawlspace, down on her hands and knees as she staggered along the cramped passage as rapidly as she could, catching a stray elbow on the bulkhead, causing her to briefly wince in pain. Dixon took up the rear, leaving Saxon behind as the elevator doors closed again.
“You think she's turned traitor, Major?” the wounded technician asked.
“I don't know what to think,” she replied, “but I do know that we've got an objective to take. Move!” She redoubled her pace, following the route that Saxon had outlined, a knot of fear in her chest that she might have been lying, might have diverted them into a trap. From above, she heard the crack of gunfire, a battle in progress. Her people, perhaps, forced into a battle they couldn't win. Saxon had abandoned them, left them to their fate.
And though she hated the thought, Cordova knew that she had been right.
Swinging through a side shaft, she reached the access doors. If Saxon had been telling them the truth, then the control center was close. One quick dash across the corridor, through a pair of security doors, and they'd be there. She reached into her pocket, feeling the datarod. The hatch slid open at the first attempt, the passage beyond deserted. Instantly, she was suspicious. That such an important installation would be left unguarded defied logic.
“Come on, Major,” the technician said.
She frowned, looked out into the corridor again, then jumped down to the deck, eating the distance between the crawl-way and the security doors in long strides, rifle in hand. Sirens wailed as she slid into position by the lock controls, entering in Saxon's command codes. The only response was a red light.
“She…,” the technician began.
“They probably cut her access,” Dixon replied, reaching into his pockets. “Stand clear. I've got this.” Cordova watched as he pulled a round gray blob from a wrapper, molding it into position by the lock, then slammed a detonator into position at its heart.
“Take cover!” he yelled, and the rebels dived to the floor, just as a group of ColSec troopers raced around the corner, rifles in hand. Cordova raised her gun to fire, but the roar of the door detonating sent the attacking force slamming into cover, one of them stumbling to the ground, caught by the butt of one of his comrade's rifles.
“We're in!” Dixon yelled, the first into the room.
“Move, move, move!” Cordova said, staying low as the first waves of gunfire from the attacking troopers rained down all around her, catching the wounded technician in the side. This one he wasn't going to walk away from, his blood spilling out onto the deck. She waited for a moment, firing covering fire to give the rest of her squad a chance to withdraw, but a strong hand pulled her into the room, through the ruined door to safety.
“Don't be a damned hero,” Dixon said, gesturing to the control panel. “You've got work to do.”
Cordova nodded, sliding the datarod into position, a sea of red lights flashing onto the screen. She worked the controls, trying to bring the defense network under control, but despite her best efforts, the console flickered out and died, the rebels locked completely out of the system. She turned to Dixon, rage on her face, and snatched out the datarod in disgust.
“We're dead,” she said. “And unless we get a miracle, so is Polaris.”
Chapter 18
Mike looked at the slip of paper in his hand, reading the text for the third time before crumpling it into his fist, dropping the ball to the floor. Dietrich looked up at him, then tapped him on the shoulder.
“You awake?” he asked. “I said that the enemy boarding party has been pinned down in Sinaloa's control room. All access has been disabled, and we've got them cornered. They're having to move slowly to avoid collateral damage, but they are contained.” Looking up at the screen, he added, “Polaris still hasn't launched fighters. That's bothering me.”
“Have Arcturus and Cygnus move around the planet. Three orbits, converging at Polaris at thirty second intervals. Fighters to move into hunting packs in higher orbit in case they attempt to make a break for it.”
Frowning, Dietrich replied, “We ought to attack with the fighters first.”
“I want to use overwhelming force this time, Sam. No mistakes, and no unnecessary casualties. We send in the fighters, Polaris will shoot some of them down, whether or not they've got their own birds in the sky. This is a job for the cruisers.”
“Aye, sir,” he replied. He turned back to his station, then paused, and asked, “What was the message?”
“From my father.” Mike looked up, and said, “Two lines.”
“What were they?”
“Do what you think is right, and do what you can live with.” He turned back to the screen, and said, “I don't have a problem with that.”
“Signal from Arcturus, Commander,” Petrova said. “They're moving into formation, but they're running ahead of schedule. Going to be at the rendezvous point one minute ahead of us.”
Shaking her head, Kenyon replied, “They want to be first to the kill, sir. Should I increase speed to compensate? I think Canopus can still get there ahead of them.”
“This isn't a race, Lieutenant, as much as Commander Morrison might choose to make it one. We hold our position in the formation. Petrova, signal Arcturus and inform her that any other acts of disobedience to squadron orders will result in her immediate replacement by her Executive Officer. Be sure to sound as menacing as you can.”
“Aye, Commander,” Petrova said, turning to the communications station. Mike looked up at the tactical display in nervous satisfaction. Everything seemed to be going as he had planned it, down to the last detail. Polaris was cut off, caught on the wrong side of the defense perimeter, evidently without fighter support. His three ships were curving around the planet, and although they might not be running to the schedule he'd like, there was so much margin for error that the minor deviations they were experiencing wouldn't matter. And yet, somehow, he was still worried. Polaris was acting just as he would have liked, and that worried him.
He reached across for the controls, tapping in a command sequence to call up the trajectory plot, trying to find some justification for his fears. This time he'd double-checked the sensor inputs himself, had made sure that the security teams were watching the feeds, had his best technicians on the task. This time, he knew the attack was going to work. It had to. He'd failed the first time. He wouldn't get a third. And there were plenty of officers in the formation that would be only too happy to place the knife in his back.
“Malfunctio
n, sir,” a disgusted Schmidt reported. “Problem with the targeting computers. I'm working on it.”
“How bad, Lieutenant?”
“We're not going to be able to fire on our first pass. Best guess...”
Turning to her, red-faced, Mike said, “That, Lieutenant, is enough. You are relieved of duty. Lieutenant Dietrich, assume Tactical, and see what you can do to clear up whatever mess Schmidt has made. I don't know quite what you expected when you began to scheme against my command, Schmidt, but taking actions that damage the fighting capacity of the ship during a battle is a step too far. Lieutenant Petrova, I expect you to countersign the charges I will be filing shortly.”
“Sir,” Dietrich said, “I'm not sure this is her. There's sign of sabotage along the secondary command relays. Someone's done a really good job of knocking out the firing systems. They shouldn't even be routed down that pathway.” He looked up at Mike, and said, “This is repairable, sir. Give me five minutes, and...”
“Sir,” Kenyon said, gesturing to the screen. “Now Cygnus is moving up. They're both heading at full speed towards rendezvous, on the far side of the planet. Eight minutes to contact.” Turning to Mike, she added, “They're working in concert, sir, but I think they've decided not to invite us to the party.”
“Both commanders are more eager to seek battle than you are,” Schmidt replied, under the watchful gaze of Petrova. “I wonder why, sir. And I wonder why you are choosing to throw suspicion on a loyal officer, when there are other traitors among us.”
“Schmidt, damn it...” Mike began. He paused, took a quick breath, then said, “Petrova, connect me through to Commanders Guerrero and Morrison right now, and make sure that their Executive Officers are also in the loop.”
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