She emerged into the target space — Crondike Wellhead Seven, the top of a nine kilometre deep shaft that burrowed into Faustino’s ice crust. It was a tangled mass of pipes, pressure tanks and power units beneath a huge domed ceiling, and open to access tunnels from three directions only — one too many for Trace’s liking, but a better bet for a defensible position than anywhere else accessible from where they were.
She took a running leap onto a circuit gantry three meters up, then bounced from there onto the one above that and skipped beside a huge blowout-preventer atop the wellhead to peer across that vantage. “Get out that way!” she yelled at some bewildered workers nearby, pointing down the further tunnel. “There’s going to be shooting, if you stay here you’ll die!” They ran.
“Walker,” she said on coms, “your section has the tunnel you’re in. Kono, you’ve got the one opposite, I’ve got the right-angles one with Rael. Is Romki still with us?”
“He’s here Major,” said Kumar. “Just coming in now.”
“Put him in the middle, see if you can get him a better mask from one of these worker offices. And while you’re at it, take a look for anything useful — explosive gas canisters would be nice, we seem to have left our grenades on Phoenix.”
“Major,” said Kono. “I’m sure you’re aware, but some of these big tanks are explosive.”
“And heavily armoured,” Trace added. “They might not use anything heavy on us for a while at least, this place is expensive. Someone check for the outer airlock, do we have a landing pad here?” Because access to Crondike schematic was blocked, but many wellheads had shuttle landing pads and direct-access airlocks so that visiting engineers and miners could get to the business end of operations directly.
Someone was climbing up to her right — she looked, and found a big workman heading her way in heavy protective clothes, dangling mask and fixed helmet. He looked more grim than scared, one look and Trace knew better than to warn him to get lost.
He stopped short, respectful of her weapon. “Major I’m Chief Stanton!” he shouted over the generator noise. “I run this wellhead! I was a marine sergeant, in for nine years! You’re from Phoenix, right?”
“That’s right!”
“Then that makes you Major Thakur! What’s this all about?”
“I don’t have time to explain, but local security and Fleet HQ want us all dead!” Stanton stared. Up the tunnel they’d come from, more firing broke out, Corporal Walker’s section in defensive position, shooting up the way they’d come. “Does this place have a landing pad?”
Stanton considered for a moment longer. Then pointed at the far wall of the domed wellhead complex, where a fourth access tunnel would be if they’d been symmetrical. “Just out there! Do you need it operational? I can prep it for you!”
“Is there any way you can visually signal our shuttle? We can’t talk to him but I’d guess he’s looking for us!” And she took the Chief’s arm and pulled him down to a crouch as more shooting rang out from Rael’s position up the next tunnel.
“You know that Crondike has air defences?” the Chief shouted back. “I doubt he’ll be anywhere in visual range, but I can get out there and signal in case he makes a visual pass! That’ll save you a rifle at least!”
Trace gripped his arm with a thankful stare. “Buddy, Fleet HQ is rotten at the top. They murdered Captain Pantillo.” A shocked look, but not entirely surprised. Trace was certain that offers of heartfelt assistance, in situations like these, deserved at least that much truth. “I’m Kulina, you know I don’t lie.”
“I’ll do it,” the Chief said grimly. “Heard bad stories about Chankow, the guy’s a prick. Good to serve with you finally!” And he scampered back to the railing and took a calculated jump off the edge, sailing down as the gravity took him.
Trace did the same off her end, bounced off the top of a pressure tank, then off a gantry rail and down to tunnel level. “Major,” came Hiro’s voice in her ear. “Big commotion at Hoffen, local coms are jammed but I’ve got access to main Heuron feed. Phoenix has broken loose, the whole station’s in chaos, some Worlder ships at dock are threatening to cycle jump engines.”
Well that would do it, Trace thought, bounding up to where Rael, Terez and Van were pressed to walls or lying flat behind big pipe braces. And it would provide an excellent opportunity for Phoenix to get clear and run. “Are they getting out?”
“No Major, Phoenix is coming this way. Faustino.”
“Oh that fucking fool!” Trace yelled, braced by Rael’s corner, then rolled across to Terez. “He can’t fight off the whole Fleet, he’s going to get everyone killed!” All that effort, riding the kid hard, kicking his butt and ignoring the poor hurt puppy look of betrayal when she did it — all so he wouldn’t make the soft and lethally sentimental call when the moment arrived. Because he was basically a nice kid, emotive and caring where he needed to be hard and ruthless, and exactly the kind of kid who caused disasters by trying to do what was ‘right’. And now all that effort was wasted.
“Major, he’s ambushed and grappled a small Fleet cruiser. He’s carrying it with him. As a hostage. So far it’s working.”
Only several times in combat had Trace been so astonished at something another officer did. All of those times had been with Captain Pantillo. Until now. Opposite her, Corporal Rael had heard, and laughed wildly. “Fucking LC! That guy’s insane!” From a marine, who typically thought spacers soft and feckless, there was no greater compliment.
Fire snapped by, and Trace raised briefly from her cover to fire back. “Guys!” she shouted over coms. “Hold positions and fight! The LC’s on his way with Phoenix!”
* * *
After mid-way turnover, Erik became worried about the stress readings on the grapples. “Ops, what about those grapples?”
“I dunno LC! It’ll hold another ten minutes, but beyond that we’ll be pushing it!” With thrust thundering directly at Faustino’s approaching icy sphere to slow them, ETA was reading fifteen minutes. But if they dumped Adventurer, the nine Fleet ships trailing them at a safer distance would pulse jump engines and open fire with a vengeance. Exactly what would happen if the grapples snapped, Erik didn’t know — probably no one had done the sims on a 6-G run while hauling a smaller ship because they didn’t want to give crazy captains ideas. He supposed they’d lose the load unevenly, it would tumble and probably hit their engines aft as it fell, for bad news all around. But they were screwed either way, so the only option was to proceed as planned, and hope. Trace’s favourite word again, and boy was she going to kill him if he saw her again.
“Captain! I’ve got Lieutenant Hausler from Crondike!” Even Shilu was making that mistake now.
“Put him through.”
Click, in his ear, then, “Phoenix this is PH-1. Crondike communications are completely jammed, I can’t contact the Major. They have defensive emplacements active and I have seen several lower capacity military shuttles in proximity, they appear to be bringing troops from other bases to Crondike, but they’re sticking around and they’re armed. I have withdrawn from Crondike landing pads, I’m on a blind spot from their scans so I’m safe for now unless someone gets a visual on me. If you’re sending a shuttle, it will take at least two armed shuttles to take out defences and make distractions on the way in. In the meantime we have to find out where the Major is, because right now I’ve no idea. Awaiting further instruction, PH-1 out.”
Erik blinked on his own icon to reply. “PH-1 this is Phoenix. PH-4 is damaged and not operational. We’re sending the remaining civilian shuttle, our kuhsi friend is piloting, Lisbeth is co-pilot, both are qualified but civilian. Echo Platoon is aboard, Lieutenant Zhi is in the loop and will have a better idea than me where the Major may be defending from in Crondike. At this velocity we’re going to have to make a full orbit of Faustino — that’s seventeen minutes if we hurry it along, I can elongate that to extend or shorten, but your time frame will be twenty minutes plus or minus. Communication with th
e civilian shuttle will be through the co-pilot, the pilot’s English is poor. Phoenix out.”
And he tried not to think of Hausler’s expression upon hearing all of that. It was like asking a pilot to fly combat ops while juggling one-handed and singing the Homeworld anthem. A few seconds later, Hausler replied.
“PH-1 copies, Phoenix. Piece of cake.” Erik grinned. And the grin vanished as it finally registered what Hausler had said — Crondike had surface defences, and armed shuttles present. And Lisbeth was co-piloting an unarmed civvie shuttle down into it, flown by an alien who had quite recently tried to slit the throats of those sent to help her, and whose actual qualifications everyone was dubious of to say the least, and who didn’t speak the language. Trace had warned him about hard calls, and he didn’t think they came any harder than this. But as she’d also said — when there was no choice, there was no choice.
* * *
If the attackers stuck to small arms, Trace knew she could hold them off indefinitely — even if they cut the air supply, her marines had personal supplies for hours yet, and more if they salvaged emergency systems from the miners’ supplies. But when the heavy rounds started incoming, she knew they were in trouble.
“Pull back!” she yelled as the first round hit the ceiling of the first tunnel. “Walker, second line of defence now!” As Lance Corporal Walker and his three marines scrambled back into the maze of gantries, pipes and heavy machinery surrounding the enormous wellhead. Another grenade spat past them and hit a pressure tank, showering all with shrapnel as they fell flat.
About her, Rael and Terez fired as a new target presented, and the shooter’s grenade hit the ceiling twenty meters short with a blast that brought small pipes and debris crashing and twisting down. “Think I got him first,” Rael suggested.
“Pull back,” Trace told them. “Displace in pairs, go.” Rael and Terez went first as Trace put down fire, then she left as Arime fired, rolling on the exposed decking, then running for a good cover position on a higher walkway by a big generator that also gave her a flanking look at Walker’s first tunnel. Problem was, from here neither she nor her marines had anywhere near as good a view up the tunnel. It allowed the attackers to advance to the tunnel mouth, right on top of them… if they were prepared to risk marines at close quarters.
“Guess they’ve been told to trash the wellhead to get us,” Rael remarked from his new cover.
“What’s in these damn pipes anyway?” Terez wondered.
“Bunch of things,” said Trace. “Most of them flammable.”
“Great.”
“Big enough rupture here would endanger this whole part of Crondike. It’s a big bomb, if these guys set it off they’ll be dead too. This steel is tough.”
“Major,” said Private Singer from Walker’s section. The reception on local coms was crackling with static, but the jamming wasn’t so intense in here that the marines couldn’t talk to each other. And if they could talk, the enemy attacking from three different tunnels at once could talk also. “I’m hit, shrapnel in the arm from that fucking grenade. I’m still in the fight, Parker’s patching it.” That was three hurt out of twelve, though Arime’s injury was just cosmetic. It was going to get worse.
Two more big explosions rocked the second tunnel entry, followed by lots and lots of smoke. Even with her targeting glasses, Trace couldn’t see anything up the tunnel. She did some fast calculation. “Give it fifteen seconds,” she told her marines, sighting along her rifle into the smoke. “Could be a big push. Kono, anything up…”
A grenade explosion cut her off. “Is now,” said Kono. “Everyone pull back.” Three tunnels out of three now with heavy weapons, but still not quite in synch…
Grenades sailed out of the smoke, flying long and slow in the low gravity. Trace saw nothing heading close enough for trouble, though Arime swore and ducked for cover as one came too close. Big flashbangs, shrapnel cracking all around, Trace felt something smack her armour and barely flinched. Several armoured figures rushed through the smoke, flanking left and right… she was angled for the left side, shot the first one in the neck as Terez shot the second. Whatever had been about to follow them, didn’t. Trace could distantly hear someone talking on coms up the tunnel, no doubt asking those two runners of their status… there was cover in gantry platforms and pipes just meters in that direction, those grenades were intended to buy them enough time to make cover. But all the smoke had obscured the attackers’ vision also, and the grenades hadn’t been accurate enough to put off the marines’ aim.
“Nice try!” Rael shouted at them. “Why don’t you try that again, that was fun!” Shouting things at the enemy was new for all of them. Previously their opponents hadn’t spoken much English. And also, it was disconcerting, to be targeting humans, and being targeted by them.
“Clear on this side,” said Trace for everyone else’s benefit. “One attempt failed, two enemy down. Hold a moment.” Because the opportunity it presented was too good to miss, and she rolled from cover, slipped gently down off the gantry and bounded to the wall beside the tunnel, and flattened herself there. Before her, the bodies of the two dead soldiers had several throwing grenades, so she scooped two quickly. The thing with smoke thick enough to stop IR penetration, it worked both ways.
The grenades were cylindrical, two fit in a hand if you practised it. She put the rifle briefly beneath her armpit, pulled both pins, then released the handles. Counted to one-and-a-half, then lobbed them high and gently about the corner into the tunnel and smoke. Then flattened herself to the wall once more and waited.
They exploded near simultaneously, still high as everything in low-G took a long time to fall, and rained shrapnel onto those in the smoke below. Screams and yells, and Trace rounded the corner, moving swiftly into the smoke and confusion. Several dark shadows were down, others assisting them. She shot the assistants first, point blank, having the advantage of knowing that anyone she saw was enemy. By the time they figured what she was, they were already dead. She put five more down, execution style at zero range, sidestepping one who did figure her for an enemy at the last moment, simply wrenching her head out of the way and shooting him from an angle. Then she knelt amongst the corpses as their comrades yelled for clarification further up the tunnel, and collected more grenades.
By now the smoke was thinning, but not knowing who was who, those further up the tunnel would be reluctant to shoot. She primed and threw a couple of spare grenades in their direction, took a com headset off one bloodied head, then ducked out of the tunnel and back up to her cover on the gantry.
“Here,” she told Arime calmly, and tossed across a pair of grenades, then another for Rael. Then activated the headset and put it on over her own earpiece and mike.
“You going to talk to them?” Rael asked wide-eyed. Trace shook her head and gestured silence, a finger to her lips, not knowing if the mike was activated. Now the smoke was clearing, exposing many bloody corpses lying sprawled across the walk and gantry beside the big pipes. Several were still moving, one of those screaming — grenade casualties she’d left alive. It took healthy troops to move the wounded, and would limit incoming fire from up the tunnels, fearful of hitting their own.
“Holy fuck,” Arime murmured.
“Stone cold killer,” said Terez. And yelled up the tunnel, “That’s courtesy of Major Trace Thakur, UFS Phoenix you pricks! Try again!” Which was met with a volley of automatic fire, but none of the marines’ positions were directly in line of sight from further down the tunnel. They were silenced by yells, no doubt to be careful of the wounded.
“Sir!” Trace heard on the captured headset. “Sir it’s Thakur. She just killed a bunch of my guys.”
“Get a grip soldier! She’s just one marine!”
“Yessir… sir, I’m pretty sure that was her…”
“I’m sending up more heavies. Get it done Commander! You’re running out of time!”
“Yessir.”
Trace removed and deactivated the he
adset. “Okay guys,” she said on coms. “I think we’ve got a pause for a bit while they send up more heavies. They’re got a commander on scene, I figure probably a major equivalent. These guys just figured they’re outclassed on quality, so they’ll resort to blasting with brute force. That’s exactly the correct tactic for them, it’s about to get serious.”
“Not a Major equivalent,” Walker said pointedly.
“Fuck no,” Kono agreed.
31
Lisbeth didn’t know the Ops officer’s name… but in action it seemed Phoenix crew called each other by their post, not name or rank. “AT-7, this is Ops, twenty seconds to release. Can you confirm systems green?”
“Um…” Lisbeth tried to focus on her controls, breathing in the little, short gasps of breath she’d become accustomed to in steady 6-G thrust. She was already exhausted, and had no idea how she’d manage more stress to come. “Yes Ops, all systems green. Tif? Tif, all good yes?”
“Good yes,” Tif agreed in that odd little growl of an accent she had. She’d refused a helmet, Lisbeth still had no idea how kuhsi ever used helmets over those ears. Instead she wore a headset that she’d had to twist to fit in one ear, and a little mike protruding down to her mouth. Lisbeth’s own helmet felt far too big and bulky on her head, and she had no idea how to use the visor HUD that sprawled across and interfered with her vision of the controls. On a civilian flight you never had to worry about taking a few extra seconds to find and read the correct display. Military pilots had to take short cuts, because every wasted second put you at risk.
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