Defenders

by TR Cameron

  “Helm, keep our functioning life-support away from the enemy, please.”

  “I like this plan. This is an excellent plan.” Lieutenant Lee spun the Washington, protecting the crew's ability to continue breathing.

  Returning to the display, Cross saw the Osaka finish the second tracker. “Bring her about and put the aliens between us and the AAN ships. Avoid crossfire.” The Xroeshyn vessel tried to evade, increasing speed and vectoring high. That angle opened it to fire from all three ships, and the convergence on its aft shields collapsed them. Additional impacts damaged or destroyed the engines, which fell dormant.

  “Take us in, Lee.” Cross and the Marines had planned and shared the boarding action while waiting for the enemy to arrive, and the helm officer had already started the required move. “Weapons, keep those shields down.” The concussive effect of pummeling the engines also knocked out the aft shield generators. The Washington needed to continue dumping energy into the ship to deter the aliens from extending the other shield zones to cover the back. At least, that’s how it was supposed to work.

  Cross tapped another button on the arm of his chair, connecting to Kate. “You’re a go for phase two.”

  “Affirmative. Launching in ten seconds. Flynn out.”

  “Keep up that barrage, weapons. Don't let the gunship get any ideas about targeting the folks we’re sending over there.”

  “With pleasure, Commander.”

  The Osaka’s escort had taken damage and was drifting off course. He saw the telltales of the crew fighting to maintain control. “Communication, blink message to the Hanoi: Can we assist?”

  Cross waited while Fitzpatrick sent the message using the running lights on the ship’s hull. The code was standard across the two militaries, drawn from semaphore codes of long ago on the seas of the Earth. With the jamming equipment up, it was the only way to communicate. The reply was a negative. Cross gave a mental shrug.

  Just then an unexpected barrage of laser weapons struck the Washington. The enemy ship had played dead just long enough to align for a decisive shot on a single shield. It collapsed, and the lasers struck deep. As they traversed the destroyer, they ripped through crew compartments and food storage while setting a series of fires on multiple decks.

  “Evasive,” Cross snapped, feeling the ship heel over as the helm responded. “Tell the Osaka to keep the enemy busy. Tactical, report.”

  “Damage control crews active. Depressurized areas on all affected levels, but our people are in combat gear, so they have internal air. The blast took out one cannon in the starboard broadside and killed several crew members.”

  “Combat readiness?”

  “Full.”

  “Okay, good.” Cross drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Get a camera on the boarders, and put it up on the main display.” Seconds later, a window opened in the upper left-hand corner of the screen. It showed the boarding party making the transit to the disabled Xroeshyn ship. His eyes tracked across each suited Marine, until they fell on one that his heart recognized as Kate. He followed her progress from relative safety to imminent danger. When Kate had mentioned launching, it had been an inside joke. In fact, the squads were using disposable propulsion packs from the Marines’ gear with a tether pulling along strings of Marines like baby ducks following their mothers. They hoped to avoid detection by the gunship because of their small size and the stealth coating on their armor providing a low reflection coefficient for the ship’s sensors.

  As he watched, they reached the enemy ship, activating magnetic boots to latch on to the hull. A Marine in each squad knelt to cut through the armor with a heavy torch. The entry point was amidships, logic suggesting it would be equidistant to the two targets. Cross had argued for breaching nearer the front and staying in a single unit, but he’d been overruled by the Marine sergeants.

  Stay safe, Red. And come back to me.

  “Fires are out, Commander,” Jacobs reported.

  “Excellent. Let’s do a little more damage. Walsh, destroy their cannons. Energy weapons only and avoid the areas with our people in them.” He watched as beams lanced out from the Washington, combining with the consistent damage the Osaka provided. At that moment, a deep satisfaction filled Cross at the punishment they were inflicting on the enemy. He was self-aware enough to recognize that the next seconds might bring everything crashing down.

  “Communications, verify with blink code that the Alliance ships know our boarders’ path.”

  I should’ve talked her out of this foolishness. To just let the Marines, who’d trained for this sort of thing, handle it.

  A few seconds later, Fitzpatrick responded in the affirmative. Cross's fingers drummed a bit more. He wished for better control of the situation. As he fretted, one weapon emplacement on the alien ship exploded, venting debris and fire into space. Another check of the boarding camera showed the Marines vanishing into the vessel. He was pretty sure Kate looked back at him before she jumped in, or maybe he just hoped she had.

  Either way, knowing Kate was willingly heading into danger because of the damned aliens was one more reason to hate the Xroeshyn. If something happens to her, I’ll spend the rest of my existence wiping those vile creatures off the face of the universe. I won’t have anything left to lose if my voice of reason was unnaturally silenced, Cross vowed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gunnery Sergeant Rhys St. John had taken part in many boarding actions during his career, but this was his first opportunity to visit an alien spaceship. “Not that bloody impressive, when you get right down to it,” he commented over the unit’s communication channel. He received agreements and grunts as replies, then watched as the three squads of Marines assigned to the Washington ditched their traveling gear and organized themselves for combat.

  He activated a private channel to Gunnery Sergeant Cynthia Murphy. “Sinner, I’ll take first squad and head to the bridge. You take second and find the computer center. Third squad stays here to hold our egress point.” This was the original plan, and St. John saw nothing necessitating any adjustments. While he talked, he unlimbered his own gear and checked that his rifle and its underslung grenade launcher were undamaged from the transit. They had chosen low-explosive grenades to avoid unintentional holes in the ship, which resulted in constant grumbling from the team’s demolitions experts.

  He looped Kate Flynn into the conversation with Murphy. “Red, until we assess the situation, remain here in reserve. You can act as our communications liaison with the Washington, in case they need to blink at us.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Don’t worry, Red. I’m sure you’ll get to shoot something before we’re done,” Sinner laughed as she reassured Kate.

  St. John went through the checklist, verifying the function of the communication channels by requiring each Marine to verbally confirm access to the shared mapping and sensors. He and Sinner had decided on a multipurpose loadout for this run, equipping one member of each squad with extrasensory gear that collaboratively created a 3-D map of the ship as they explored it. To compensate for the jamming, they’d chosen line-of-sight comms and brought a veritable ton of tiny repeaters that they would leave behind like breadcrumbs to maintain an unbroken chain back to the entry point.

  St. John addressed the team, “No fancy words, people. We have two shots at this, one on the bridge, the second deep in the ship’s guts. We go where we need to go as quickly as possible, retrieve the data, and make tracks out of here. There’s no telling how long the ship will last around us, or who else might be coming, so step lively. Separate by squads and get it done.”

  He pointed at the members of first squad, and indicated that “Surfer” Baker should take point. The rest of the members fell in, and they moved off toward the ship’s bow. His helmet also monitored the channel for second and third squads at a reduced volume, but he still heard them organizing themselves.

  For five minutes they made quick progress, leapfrogging past intersections, deplo
ying repeaters, and maintaining a disciplined march. Then Private First-Class Moya “Flame” Candella signaled a halt. “Sensors show heat signatures ahead. It looks like an ambush from both sides at the next cross-corridor.”

  “Sure do wish we had some explosives,” muttered Private Mark “Kid” Minor.

  “Stow it, Kid. Our goal is not to destroy the ship. It’s to take the data out of it. Surfer, flash bangs to the left. Huge,” he called out to Lance Corporal Hugo Galano, the squad’s machine gunner, “flash bang to the right. Flame, dash across the intersection and set overwatch ahead. Kid, overwatch behind. Surfer, Huge and I will move into the middle and take them out. Execute on my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”

  They deployed, as ordered, a pair of grenades timed to go off sequentially ricocheting off the walls and down the assigned corridors. As they exploded, the Marines blurred into motion, pouring projectiles down the hallways as they went. Once he had a visual, St. John saw that these were ordinary crewmen, not security or armored forces. The barrage of fire literally shredded them, and the Marines were soon advancing again. St. John shook his head, thinking that it was a useless waste of life to send unequipped troops against them. If it had been his command, he would’ve rotated them back to get geared up, even if it meant allowing the enemy to penetrate further before bracing them.

  He hoped the Xroeshyn would continue to make stupid choices, but doubted they’d be that lucky.

  Several minutes of cautious advance later, they encountered their first real obstacle. “Sensors show a lift ahead. No corresponding ladders or walkways,” Candella reported.

  “Dammit,” breathed St. John. “All right, I don’t want us to be sitting ducks, but cutting through the elevator ceiling is too dangerous to be a first option. We might wind up trapped in the shaft. It makes sense to start at the top and work our way down. Take positions that don’t expose you to fire from the entrance.” He motioned for Surfer to hit the button, and the doors slid open, retracting vertically to allow them to enter. A seemingly logical set of buttons appeared beside the door, and St. John selected the one that he imagined was the highest deck. As the lift rose, he was grateful the aliens shared the spatial arrangement preferences of humanity.

  After only a couple of seconds, it clanked to a halt and was filled with a powerless darkness.

  The Marines triggered their armor lights and a soft glow illuminated the space. “Flame, Kid, plasmacord the top. Move fast.” St. John pulled a tool from the back of his belt, bending to work the button panel free. Baker and Galano crouched so that the others could use them as ladders to reach the ceiling, and by the time that St. John had ripped the wires out and tossed them on the floor, the two Marines were climbing down.

  “Cover,” St. John ordered, and each member moved as far from the incendiary as the elevator allowed and faced away. “Blow it.”

  A low-power laser from Flame’s gauntlet lit the plasmacord, which consumed itself at an incredibly high temperature, shooting sparks and melting through the top of the lift. They clambered out in marching order, except St. John, who stayed until last. He stepped out as the brakes released, the lift plummeting toward the bottom of the ship. The Marines, magnetically latched to the sides of the shaft, laughed in relief.

  “They don’t appear happy to see us, Sergeant,” deadpanned Moya Candella.

  “It must be you, Flame. Everyone’s always happy to see me,” Baker countered.

  “Sergeant, permission to shoot Surfer?”

  “Denied.”

  “Dammit,” grumbled Flame. “You never let me shoot him.”

  “We’ll make sure that you’re on separate squads for the next training exercise, how’s that?”

  St. John imagined he could hear a ferocious grin over the communication link. “Perfect.”

  “All right, people. Start climbing. Anyplace there’s an opening, avoid it. There’s no predicting the enemy’s arrival. Two at a time climb, the rest provide cover. Change up every fifteen meters. Huge and Kid, you’re first.” The squad moved smoothly up the shaft, gaining the top deck without further incident.

  Moments later, another run of plasma cord melted an entrance into a new corridor.

  “Sensors show that the bridge is fifty meters dead ahead on this level—” Candella’s voice was cut off as an armed force entered the tunnel before them, firing as they came.

  “Shields, return fire,” St. John said, and the Marines activated their personal defense shields, buying them enough time to get into position to retaliate. Flame and Kid slid prone. Galano moved right while Surfer slid left. St. John took cover behind Hugo’s muscular bulk. Grenades arced toward the enemy, a mixture of flash bang and electrical payloads. The riflemen peppered the Xroeshyn, but transparent full-body shields carried on one arm protected them from harm. The enemies without rifles threw grenades over the front line, and St. John carefully targeted and destroyed each projectile before it could reach his team. Soon a haze of smoke filled the corridor.

  “We’re not getting through, Sergeant,” Flame said as she swapped clips in her rifle. “Also, sensors show additional enemy forces closing behind these. Maybe we—” her words vanished in a scream. St. John looked down to see that her right leg armor had been penetrated, and from the sound of it, the flesh underneath. Another grunt came over the comm channel, and in the upper corner of his vision the vital stats of Private Minor flat-lined. A quick look showed that his helmet was pierced in several places.

  “We’re getting out of here, people. Galano, full cover fire. I’ll do the same with grenades. Surfer, grab Flame and get down the shaft. We’ll be right behind you.”

  The two men unloaded. St. John continued to target enemy grenades as they arced toward him. Bullets and beams deflected from their armor, causing both to stagger backward from the multiple impacts. As the situation became dire, St. John ordered, “Go, Galano, now.”

  The large man turned and made his way into the shaft. St. John followed, diving through the opening headfirst. He twisted and fired his grapnel, the magnetic projectile locking on to the wall, and used the unspooling line to slow his descent and swing him into the lower corridor. With the touch of a button, the magnet deactivated, and the device retracted into his armor.

  “How is she?” St. John watched Surfer apply a field dressing to Flame’s leg.

  “Unconscious. The leg’s a mess. The suit has cut off blood to it. But she should live as long as we can get her home reasonably quickly.”

  “All right, Surfer, she’s your responsibility. Take her back and then figure out how to get her stabilized and over to the Washington. Huge and I will leave some presents for the birds when they come after us.”

  He reached down and plucked the remaining plasma cord and grenades from Flame’s belt. Galano clambered into the passageway and grimaced. “These bastards need killing. Bad.”

  “Well then, my big friend, let’s get started on that task,” St. John replied. Switching to the command-only channel, he spoke only to Murphy and Kate. “First squad has one dead, one injured. We’re retreating to the breach point. It’s on you, Sinner.”

  Her voice crackled back to him. “Affirmative. We’ll get the job done. Stay safe.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  While St. John had been encountering the Xroeshyn on the other end of the ship, Murphy’s squad had been creeping toward the deepest areas of the middle deck. They had only a guess, based upon heat sensor readings and human logic, at the location of the ship’s computer center. The heavily defended middle made sense.

  As they progressed, they used the stealth function of their suits to avoid detection, setting them to match the external temperature and visual pattern of the walls. Murphy knew the camouflage was excellent from a distance, but she doubted their ability at close range, considering the unknown sensory capabilities of the enemy.

  After receiving the message from St. John, she opened the channel to her squad. “The mission is on us now. Saint’s team is blocked, so we mus
t make it to our target and get the data.”

  Corporal Charlotte Alard was in the lead, traversing each intersection with her rifle and grenade launcher combo, ready to move from secrecy to aggression if the situation demanded it. Behind her was Lance Corporal Diego Seco, followed by Private First-Class Gideon Wilkinson and Murphy. Private Nieve Alvarez walked backward at the rear the team, keeping her weapon pointed to cover their six.

  Alard stopped moving, raising a fist in the gesture to halt. Her quiet voice sounded over the intercom. “Sergeant, sensor shows aliens ahead. They’re between us and the target. And there’s no clear path to go around them.”

  “Standby, Char,” Murphy replied. Using a mixture of voice commands and haptic sensors in her gauntlets, she manipulated the detailed map that their combined equipment had built of the alien ship. She also couldn’t identify a way among the visible areas that would allow them to avoid the enemy troops.

  “I confirm your assessment. It looks like it’s time to get loud. Remember, once we break into the computer room, no explosives and no shooting. Melee weapons or hand-to-hand if needed, but protect the equipment at any cost short of your life.”

  “Affirmative,” each member of her team answered, their voices stacking upon one another in her helmet.

  “Standby to move.” Murphy switched her comm back to the command channel. “We’ll breach the computer center in minutes, if all things go as planned.”

  “Affirmative,” Kate replied. “We’re keeping the door open for you.”

  “Watch out for their defense shields, and don’t forget your own,” said the cultured British accent.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Murphy quipped back at St. John. His snort of derision echoed through her helmet.