Sharp examined Cloud base as if from the outside, planning his defence. The top levels were vacuum trim tanks and parkland. In the middle lay space dock, also under vacuum. At the bottom were the machine levels. Invading through them would be difficult and extremely hazardous. Radiation, chemical and biological hazards would kill off any soldier trying to cross those levels long before they caused any mischief.
He knew the intruders were operating from ship lock two, located in Cloud base’s outer rim. When not filled with a Lakedaemon warship, the ship locks normally granted starships entry to space dock.
Sharp inferred the invader’s objective must be to take the central column. It gave access to everything an invader might value. Humans, the computer mainframe or control of a starship.
Information from Cloud base ops, was that two ships had managed to impact, but only one experienced a survivable deceleration. Unfortunately, it was the larger. His short battalion of the 95th Paras were now facing potentially thousands of hostiles. Worse still, the battleship’s fusion reactors could let go at any moment.
Sharp ground his teeth as his mind’s eye chimed again. Operations kept beaming out situation reports. They’d finally found security footage of Imperial battle suits clanking their way out from their wrecked starship. At least Camperdown was staying out of his way.
Sharp sent two defending Para formations toward the invasion site aboard transport capsules. They were stoppers in a bottle. Each force would deploy around the transport tubes either side of ship lock two. That would prevent the invaders spreading, if the Paras were quick enough.
Sergeant Augustine had excused himself from the command post and joined the clockwise prong of Sharp’s attack. Augustine was even more desperate for action than Sharp. He just couldn’t stand to stay out of the first action he’d had since the Eagle incident, twenty years ago
In tight spaces the soldiers and their drones soon thickened the air. From long experience, Augustine knew the smell of lubricant and sweat from the crowd would have been overpowering if not for his combat suit’s air filter. The capsule dropped them off two hundred metres from the bottom of ship lock two.
Dog drones immediately burst outwards, hunting for invaders. The bigger, more heavily armed terminator drones followed. Their human directors set them up as the outer line of defence along the approaches to the transport capsule tubes. The big terminators looked and moved just like humans in armour, deliberately so. They were there to take the brunt of the fighting, attracting fire that would otherwise be directed at humans.
The human members of section set up an inner defence ring round the transport capsule, awaiting intel from their drones and reinforcements from the next capsules.
The Paras surveyed their defences and took command took local control of Cloud base’s repair systems, extruding hard cover and sinking grenade sumps in the decks. When the time came, the invaders were going to face a metaphorical meat grinder. Major Sharp, monitoring from his makeshift command post, was satisfied for now.
In Cloud base Operations, Admiral Camperdown paced round the circular space like a caged tiger. He knew better than to disturb Major Sharp, but in the privacy of his own mind, his emotions roiled. He went from post to post, looking for mistakes, dreading he’d find one. But at the same time, he hoped to find one before it was too late to deal with.
A number of vacuum tanks were leaking after the first starship had rammed into the top of Cloud base. The aerostatic component of Cloud base’s lift was shrinking. Cloud base would then sink, dropping from the gas layer to the liquid layer of Vespin’s atmosphere. Eventually the pressure of Cloud base’s hull would be too great for it’s structural strength. Implosion would result, when Cloud base exceeded crush depth was all.
Camperdown had put Sub-Commander Llewellyn, who’d been thrown off Frankenstein, to work leading a desperate damage control action to save the station. Thankfully well away from the fighting.
Sergeant Augustine crouched in cover. More Paras had joined the pincer. The next reinforcements due included an Officer. Then Augustine could pass over command and go forward hunting.
Augustine ran his mind’s eye through the command feeds from the terminator drones. The feeds all showed Imperial battle suits on the dead and dying, confirming Lakedaemian involvement. Their Hoplite armour was distinctive, though his experienced eye could tell this wasn’t the latest model. Sharp and his lads knew how to fight Imperials. His mind’s eye passed a brief contact report back to the Major with a touch of satisfaction.
The attackers were bottled up in the corridors around ship lock two. Every time they tried to force their way out, the terminator drones picked off a few with smart missiles. The Imperials hadn’t used any heavy weapons and they hadn’t tried to press their attacks. Augustine wondered why they were holding back. Sooner or later, a leader with a bit of fire in their belly would get them moving.
Admiral Camperdown lost count of how many circuits he’d made of the Operations room. Security sensors were registering a trail of black outs, well past Major Sharp’s precarious containment. An enterprising platoon of the attackers had made it to the central column. They seemed to be targeting computer network junctions, thankfully giving civilians huddling in emergency shelters a wide berth.
Camperdown directed the security team to focus internal sensors on the new threat, but he already knew what they’d find. Infrared equipment all along the invaders path show signatures of Blight infection.
Camperdown bit down on his fear and fury. Tempting as it might be to scream blue murder at the Security Chief, it wouldn’t improve his work. Camperdown looked that unfortunate soul straight in the eye “I want that infectious shit burned out of my station. You hear me Lieutenant?”, he paused for emphasis “I want all of it gone. Otherwise we lose the station. Clear?”. The man looked back “Sir, I’ll clear the infections ASAP, but we need to kill the source.”.
The Admiral grunted and turned away. He strode purposefully toward the comms section muttering to himself “I know just the people”.
Magnus and his team had searched through two levels of network nodes when Camperdown finally broke through the communication block. His mind’s eye chimed and the Admiral appeared looking harassed “Commander, we’ve got rats loose in the cellar. I need pest control”.
Magnus replied “Sounds dramatic, Sir. What do you need from me?”.
The Admiral explained “A platoon of invaders are Blight carriers. Sharp’s blockade missed them. They are in the central column. I need you to take them out fast. If they infect enough of the computer network, Cloud base will fall”.
Magnus ran an updated situation report through his mind’s eye “That’s a lot of targets for just the four of us, Sir”.
“We’ll help you with up to date locations. They’ve spread out, try and take them on in bite sized pieces, Lennard” Magnus thought Camperdown had signed off, then he added “Good Hunting”.
“A bit too good” Magnus whispered to himself. He directed his mind’s eye to open a channel to the rest of the team “Alright, we’ve got fifty-two targets and we’ve got to kill them fast. I’ve got exactly one idea that might help”.
Armstrong couldn’t resist “Three Paras, one Officer and one idea against fifty plus infected. Gonna run out of medals to pin on me, Skipper”.
Several frantic minutes of sprinting took Magnus’ small war band up three levels of the central column. Running at full tilt for that long was taxing even to Paras in combat suits, but it was where the nearest of the infected were located. About two-thirds of the way in Armstrong grunted out “Anyone who upchucks is getting beasted when this is over”. Lincoln replied by mind’s eye “Save your breath, Corp”.
It then took a few minutes more to preparation in between gasps of air. First, they had to find just the right passage, then decide who was bait. Armstrong requested “Volunteers” in a voice that made it clear he wasn’t asking. Without missing a beat “Me” rang out, Magnus grinned “This is
my idea, so I’ll be bait. Armstrong, you and the lads do what you do best. Big damn heroes”. Armstrong looked him in the eye “Respectfully Skipper, this is fucking stupid”. Magnus grinned “Best plan we’ve got, Jack”.
Magnus moved forward fast and stealthy, more like a shadow than a man. In his right hand, he carried his gauss pistol. In his left, his psy-blade, round and flat like a shield. His combat suit directed waste heat out through his feet into the deck, the gecko layer of his armour matched the colours of his surroundings. A second glance might have picked him out, but not the first.
The infected had broken up into parties of ten and spread themselves out. Magnus approached a party as they burned through an access hatch to a network room. They worked steadily to fit a shaped explosive charge to the stubborn material, all the while not seeing Magnus approach. There was a muffled bang, the hatch gave in and Imperial soldiers went through to multiply Cloud base’s Blight infection. A few more infected network sites in this area and they’d cut communications in the central core.
In the Operations room, Camperdown was doing his best to support Magnus and his team. He’d directed the lighting be turned down and wireless traffic too. Camperdown was mimicking the loss of control of other systems. Magnus managed to sneak up to the infected Hoplite on picket duty. Fresh Blight growths could be seen dotted across the Lakedaemian’s battle suit, especially round the head and chest. Magnus shivered, the horror of infection seemed to suck the warmth out of him. Killing this sorry bastard would be a mercy.
The unmarred surface of the armour showed markings quite like Hecate’s Hippeis. With a thought, his psy-blade morphed into a wickedly sharp blade that Magnus swept up over his head. Magnus paused for the briefest instant, marshalling his abilities. Then the atom thick blade swept down powered by a destructive synergy of enhanced Laurentian musculature, combat suit strength and long practiced telekinesis.
Magnus' blade passed through flesh, armour and Blight matter with a whisper.
As it did, the foetal Blight construct consuming the Lakedaemon from within tried calling out to the larger gestalt mind. It received no response.
Admiral Camperdown was watching over Magnus from the Cloud base Operations room. With impeccable timing, his Security Chief had re-tasked every network node up and down the central column to jam every frequency the Blight tried to link on. Their miniature gestalt was broken, for now.
With his weapons held ready, a grimly determined Magnus crept towards the other infected Hoplites.
Chapter 27
Magnus placed one foot in front of the other, slowly, carefully, trying not to make a sound. He stealthily inched forward. Servers sat in racks from floor to ceiling. The noise of the stressed climate control helped cover his approach. Even Cloud base’s miraculous systems struggled to manage the heat load of so much electronics in one small space.
Magnus concentrated hard, every sense straining. He desperately hunted the remaining nine infected before they found him. He glided between the racks, checking sight lines lefts and rights. The heavier Lakedaemon battle suites with their noisy moving parts gave him a significant advantage, but if the Blight managed to re-establish their gestalt, their superior numbers would carry the day.
Despite his best efforts, an infected Hoplite got the drop on him. As Magnus slid around the corner, he failed to see it rounding the corner at the same time. He was so close, the infected didn’t have room to raise its gun and shoot him. Nor could he return the favour. For the briefest moment, neither moved.
In shock, Magnus reacted out of all proportion, his mind formed a great telekinetic fist which slammed into the luckless creature, knocking in back through a kit rack, loudly wrecking delicate equipment. The attack passed straight through the Imperial battle suit, pulverising flesh and bone. The infected Hoplite slid to the ground, lifeless.
Magnus turned and sprinted back to the network room’s hatch. It was only big enough for one person in combat armour to pass at once. The first figure he saw following him raised his arm, bringing his gun up to shoot at Magnus.
Magnus grabbed the new threat with telekinesis, dragged it head first straight towards him, before slicing straight down with his psy-blade, cleaving another infected specimen in two. It’s remains landed on the floor, a torrent of blood and guts covered the deck and bulkheads.
Magnus didn’t wait for another to emerge, that trick only worked once. And only while the Blighted soldiers were disorientated by the lack of gestalt. He fired off a single smart missile from his shoulder launcher, set for proximity detonation to a battle suit. Then he turned ran like the devil’s own hell-hounds had his scent.
It felt like a few seconds later when his missile detonated, shredding the network node, killing another Blight infected Hoplite. It was actually less than a second. Magnus’ mind’s eye stretched each second out, allowing him to react with impossible speed, but at the cost of making the ordinary human experience torturous.
Magnus ran full tilt back along the passageway he had used to approach the Blight infected Hoplite squad. Part of him never felt more alive than in close quarters battle, another part never felt more terrified. He couldn’t afford to slow down for the upcoming corner, shots from his pursuers were landing all around him, though mostly off target. The few that came near he batted away scornfully with a telekinetic flick.
Magnus slapped his pistol and psy-blade to his waist belt as he approached the final leg of his run. Behind him the clatter of solid boots on Cloud base’s deck let him know the pursuers had not let up. The armour on the ends of his fingers flowed, reforming from rounded ends into pointed hooks, he dived forward and grabbed the inside of the next corner with both hands. The hooks bit deep into the bulkhead, dramatically throwing off sparks. Magnus kicked out with his legs and used a telekinetic jolt to swing himself round.
He continued on along the wide final passage without slowing. He passed a pair of hatches. His pursuers had taken the corner and were well after him now, heads down sprinting, their steps boosted with well-timed blasts of their thruster packs. If Magnus slowed to fight them again, they would just run straight over him, stamping him to death or worse, infecting him.
As he passed the hatches, Magnus’ mind’s eye beamed out one simple word “Now”. The passage walls rippled. Behind Magnus, needles criss-crossed the passage, atom thin, almost invisible. Cloud base’s extrusion technology brought some scary advantages to the defender. The sound of clanking Lakedaemon armour was replaced with crashing metal and agonised screams. Magnus dropped to his knees and slid to a halt. He turned just in time to see three figures in Laurentian combat suits step out into the thoroughfare.
Like horsemen of the apocalypse, they moved between the writhing Blighted, who were now missing legs, arms or heads. Their maser carbines burned anything left twitching and few things that didn’t.
Seven Blighted Hoplites lay shredded at the feet of Jack Armstrong, Gary Lincoln and Colin Thresher.
Over the team’s shared channel “Very dramatic, Skipper. Rather you than me, though” Thresher declared. Armstrong extended a hand and pulled a shaken Magnus to his feet, whilst slapping down his cheeky subordinate “For being a gobshite, you’re bait next time, Trooper”.
Camperdown popped up on the Team channel “Well done. Ten down. Forty left”. He paused glancing over the displays in Ops. “The rest don’t seem to have twigged you, even with you wrecking my corridor. Keep it up lads”. Magnus wearily acknowledged an updated situation report that popped up in his mind’s eye “We’ll get moving Admiral. Please sent a clean-up crew down here. The remains are infectious”.
The remaining Blighted Hoplites in the central column were all converging in the utility craft bay. It was a big area, full of cover. It was going to be a pain to root forty soldiers out of there.
In Cloud base’s outer walls, Augustine had left behind the force holding the transport tubes. He had snuck over a couple of cross passages, then worked in towards ship lock two. He monitored the feed
s from the dog drones over his mind’s eye. Something had clearly changed in the attackers thinking.
The Lakedaemon forces were no longer falling back at the first sign of resistance. Instead they struck more determinedly, accepting some casualties. They probed the Laurentian defenders position, looking for a weakness to exploit. Augustine feared that unless he could do something to throw them off balance, the full strength of the boarders might push straight through the lines before Major Sharp could react. Fortunately, whoever said violence was never a solution, was wrong.
Armstrong led Magnus, Lincoln and Thresher in a loping gait through the central column. Each level had a circumferential corridor with observation blisters. The small team were heading to one now, but not to enjoy the view. None of the group fancied trying to force their way into the utility bay via the narrow confines of a transport capsule. Instead Armstrong had whistled up Greg Jones in a search and rescue shuttle. Now he was a delivery driver for Jack Armstrong’s patented brand of mayhem. He never quite knew who was crazier, Jack and his death wish or Greg himself, for joining in.
Annoyingly, jamming the Blight had reduced comms to voice only, so Greg found himself reduced to calling into a microphone like some stone bashing Neanderthal, “Dreadnought, Dreadnought. This is Charlie-Bravo-Rescue-five-zero. Do you read me?”.
The channel kicked out static, then he heard the voice of Sub-Lieutenant Bainham “Rescue five-zero, this is Dreadnought. Pass your message”.
“Dreadnought, five-zero. Relaying sunburn mission from Dreadnought Actual”.
“Dreadnought acknowledges. Relay coordinates and authentication”.
Greg Jones circled his SAR shuttle around the central column and managed to line a comms laser up on Dreadnought.
Half a kilometre above, through the SAR shuttle’s optical sensors, Greg watched Dreadnought’s dorsal armour bulge, then a small aperture irised open. The maser turret lined up on the observation blister. It burst open under fire. A puff of Cloud base’s atmosphere followed. Greg ducked his shuttle under the falling debris.
The Syracuse Deception Page 19