Terran Fleet Command Saga 4: TFS Fugitive
Page 21
Signaling everyone to move back out of sight below the level of the landing once again, Rios risked a brief radio call. “Commander, we can clearly rip them up pretty good from here. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got no problem doing exactly that, seeing as how they picked this fight, not us. But since we don’t know how they will react — both here in the facility and in space — I’m looking for some guidance. What are your orders, ma’am?”
Within the confines of her helmet, Reynolds rolled her eyes and swore silently to herself. She didn’t particularly have a problem with the fact that Rios had effectively “passed the buck.” Under the circumstances, it was probably the right call on his part, and she was fairly certain she would have done the exact same thing if she had been in his shoes. It did, however, put her in the position of completely owning the situation, regardless of what happened from here on in. Thinking quickly, she saw only three reasonable options. First, she could contact Prescott, but she dismissed this idea immediately as both indecisive and too slow. Second, she could give the order to open fire. This option might well lead to a quick victory, but, as Rios had said, might literally bring the full might of the enemy task force down on their heads. Finally, they could offer the Krayleck troops one final opportunity to either withdraw or surrender. While this seemed like a completely ridiculous idea on a number of different levels, and might still prompt their ships to attack, it at least did have the advantage of morally justifying a possible massacre if the enemy soldiers refused to comply.
Desperate times … she thought to herself. “Alright, Top, I want you to try your VA system one more time. Give them one chance to either leave the facility immediately or throw down their weapons and surrender. Everyone else, weapons hold, but if they start shooting — and I think they might — we start killing them and keep killing them until I say stop.”
Although she had not asked for a response, Reynolds noted that her orders were immediately acknowledged by the entire squad. Nodding silently for Rios to begin, she crouched a bit lower and waited for the inevitable.
“Krayleck troops!” Rios’ massively amplified voice thundered up the corridor once again. “Since you have attacked our forces without provocation, we require that you either withdraw from the facility entirely or throw down your weapons and surrender unconditionally. This is your final warning. Leave or surrender now or you will be fired upon.”
The effect on the Krayleck forces was immediate. First, the stream of sounds emitted by the individuals standing around the perimeter of the formation changed to a shrill series of shrieks that would have been deafening were it not for the protection provided by the Marines’ helmets. Shortly thereafter, every soldier in the formation broke ranks and rushed with what must have been their equivalent of a battle cry toward Rios and his assembled Marines.
“Hold!” Rios ordered, assuming that the oncoming Krayleck would stop to open fire before reaching the stairwell. As the leading group of soldiers reached the halfway point, however, it became obvious that they had something else entirely in mind. “They’re planning to overrun us, Commander,” he said, spitting out the words as quickly as possible.
“Weapons free, fire at will!” Reynolds yelled, adrenaline finally overcoming any pretense of military bearing.
Not having expected a headlong rush on their position, only about half of Rios’ Marines were in a position to quickly open fire at the moment the order was given. Guided by their battle management AI, however, every one of them engaged and killed a target within the first five seconds, felling the closest eighteen enemy soldiers as if they were a wave breaking harmlessly against a wall of stone. Yet still they came on, perhaps incited into this mad, killing frenzy by a combination of the deaths of their comrades and the shrieking exhortations of their leaders. The shrill, piercing cries continued unabated throughout the Krayleck charge, lending a wild, terrifying atmosphere to what had now become a close-quarters battle.
The Marines managed a second volley almost immediately, this time joined by most of the other members of their combined squad. Even with the AI designating unique targets for every pulse rifle, discipline began to break down within the chaotic onslaught of armored alien bodies. As a result, several bolts from the second salvo impacted enemy soldiers that had already been neutralized — a significant decrease in combat efficiency with equally significant consequences. As the Krayleck vanguard reached the Human line, the Marines were still outnumbered by nearly three to one.
In each Marine’s field of view, their AIs shifted seamlessly to hand-to-hand combat mode, displaying a wide range of information intended to assist each one in maximizing the effectiveness of their battle armor. While each of them had received extensive training in various techniques for handling precisely this kind of scenario, face-to-face combat was still both terrifying and strangely personal, just as it had always been throughout history. Accordingly, each Marine fought with their own unique style — and, in some cases, using their own personal weapons.
“Watch his left … yeah, that’s it … throat … squeeze and pull … dead. Next,” Rios’ AI reported in a satisfied, provocative tone, keeping up a steady stream of feedback that provided coaching along with profanity-laden expressions of encouragement.
“Lucky,” he grunted, sidestepping a stumbling Krayleck soldier who had just taken a crushing side kick from a nearby Marine. “You should have enough data to profile their armor. Are their suits the same as our Mark 1s?”
“Close, but I’m thinking theirs are not as good as our Mark 1s were overall. Their heads are too big. That makes them tougher to armor, and I think their natural exoskeletons work against them as well. Bottom line, we’re shaped better than they are for augmentation. That shouldn’t be a big surprise since the Pelarans are just like — behind you, BLADE!”
Having trained with his AI for this particular situation hundreds of times, Rios had developed something of a “muscle memory” for the moves associated with countering a close-quarters attack from the rear. The keyword “blade” in this case referred not to the weapon held by his enemy (which would have done the Krayleck soldier little good in any event), but to the weapon Rios always wore in the horizontal “scout carry” position in the small of his back. In one smooth motion, he drew and then activated the device, rotating to his right to make visual contact with the enemy soldier as he pushed upward to target the generally weak interface between helmet and chest armor.
Having more in common with a high-intensity plasma torch than a traditional “Navy Knife,” Rios’ weapon was capable of firing a thirty-centimeter-long jet of plasma for approximately two minutes. Upon impact with his target, the effect was immediate — the “blade” striking and penetrating between the two sections of the Krayleck’s suit before easily piercing its exoskeleton and almost completely severing its head from its body.
“Served him right … the mutt,” Lucky commented as Rios sheathed the weapon while attempting to get a handle on the still-chaotic situation surrounding him.
Although things had most definitely not gone the way he had hoped, they had clearly gone very badly indeed for the Krayleck force. Realizing that they were at a significant disadvantage against the Humans’ pulse rifles, they had sought to quickly overwhelm the much smaller force of Marines with sheer strength of numbers. While, pound for pound, the average Krayleck soldier had a slight strength advantage over his Human Marine counterpart, they were also less agile, and were augmented with combat armor that only doubled their normal strength compared to the five-fold increase provided by the Humans’ “universal” combat EVA suits. The result, as Commander Reynolds had predicted, could accurately be called a massacre.
Rios’ battle management AI now displayed only fifty Krayleck soldiers with the red icons indicating a mission effective status. By comparison, his squad had suffered only two KIAs and three other Marines injured seriously enough to be out of the fight. Fifty v. thirty, he thought, a confident smile forming at the corners of his mouth.
Krayleck rifle rounds ineffective, he announced with a quick thought. Marines, form a line on me.
Within seconds, the few Krayleck still engaged in sporadic hand-to-hand combat were quickly dispatched, and the entire squad was moving forward again as one, sweeping the remaining enemy soldiers from the corridor before them. When the number of remaining enemy troops reached twenty-five, Rios called for a halt and weapons hold.
“Your weapons are ineffective!” he yelled, his amplified voice sounding as if God himself was demanding an end to the fighting. “Drop them NOW and lie face down on the ground, or we will be forced to kill every last one of you.”
It was at this point that Commander Reynolds first realized that the awful shrieking noise some of the Krayleck had been making had finally ceased. One by one, the remaining enemy soldiers placed their rifles on the ground, then slowly lowered themselves into kneeling, then prone positions. Reynolds drew in a deep breath as she continued to watch closely for signs of additional resistance, daring for the first time to believe that they had somehow defeated a much larger enemy force. Although she continued her slow, deliberate scan of the enemy soldiers while catching her breath, it was a Marine private who noticed the minute, furtive movements that signaled the Kraylecks’ final act of defiance.
“GRENADE!” the private yelled over the tactical comm channel.
In actuality, almost all of the remaining Krayleck had been in the process of attempting to activate another of their explosive devices. With thirty pulse rifles trained in their direction, however, all of them save one died before successfully doing so. With no remaining threats other than the live grenade, Rios’ Marines simply dropped to the floor. Fortunately, all of them were well outside the device’s kill radius and were protected from fragments and other flying debris by their combat armor. Nevertheless, almost the entire squad was doused by a wall of foul-smelling, brown-colored gore produced by the explosively shredded bodies of several Krayleck soldiers.
Seconds later, the Marines were still lying face down on the floor of the corridor when they felt the first impacts of what had to be kinetic energy weapons fire striking the planet’s surface nearby. With this battle ended and another obviously about to get underway above, Reynolds quickly made the mental shift from temporary Marine special operator to first officer, TFS Theseus. Calling up a summary of the destroyer’s tactical plot, she was instantly aware of the impossible tactical situation in which her captain had placed the ship — as well as exactly why he had done so.
“We need to get everyone back to the lift RIGHT NOW!” she roared over the tactical comm, instantly establishing that she was once again fully in command.
With everyone back on their feet, Reynolds quickly fired off a list of orders to Rios and his remaining Marines, her highly focused mind now employing the neural interface as if it were a natural extension of her own consciousness. Ensuring first and foremost that all of her troops — including their dead and wounded — were accounted for, she also recalled that only one shuttle at a time could depart for the Theseus. Taking full advantage of the delay, she took a few moments to collect not only their own weapons and equipment, but several items of interest from the Krayleck soldiers who would no longer be needing them.
Chapter 15
TFS Theseus, Herrera Mining Facility
(87.2 light years from Damara)
“I’m not sure I fully understand our orders, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Schmidt said, glancing up from his Command console with an obvious look of concern. “I know Admiral Patterson said that we are not to engage unless fired upon, but surely we’ve met the spirit of that condition at this point, have we not?”
“You could certainly make that argument,” Prescott nodded with a conciliatory smile, “but I can promise you that it wouldn’t hold up well during your court-martial … assuming you lived long enough to face one. We’ll talk more about the professional ethics surrounding ‘shades of gray’ decisions another time, but for now, I want you to understand that an order like the one you just mentioned is absolutely black and white. If we can’t prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the Krayleck ships intentionally targeted and fired on us, we may not engage, period.”
“Even though they fired on our Marines?”
“Their soldiers did, yes, and now they’re all dead as a result. And while our politicians might well argue that their species has already committed an act of war, a pitched battle between opposing warships is on a completely different level than a skirmish between two relatively small forces on the ground, Thomas. So, if we were to open fire based on what their ground troops did, we would not only be violating our orders, but we would also be responsible for dramatically escalating the conflict between Humanity and the Krayleck — potentially putting billions of lives at risk on both sides.”
“Don’t you think this sporadic fire we’re seeing is a result of what just happened on the surface?”
“I’m certain of it, and I’m equally certain that they’re trying to provoke us into doing something stupid enough to justify an all-out attack.”
“Sir,” Lieutenant Dubashi interrupted, “Commander Reynolds reports that they can get everyone aboard two shuttles.”
“That’s good. The maintenance hangar where the lift is can only handle one at a time, so that eliminates an additional airlock cycle.”
“Yes, sir. The first shuttle will have all seven Wek personnel and sixteen Marines aboard. That total includes three KIAs and three wounded in need of additional medical attention: one routine, one priority, and one urgent surgical.”
“Understood. Please pass that information along to Doctor Chen. Also, let Commander Reynolds know that we need them to complete their two launch cycles as quickly as possible. We may well be under fire by the time we recover the second shuttle.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Do you think the Krayleck are afraid of us based on what they’ve seen so far?” Lieutenant Commander Schmidt asked after a brief period of silence.
“Yeah, honestly I do. We’ve shown a stubborn willingness to stand our ground up here when they clearly expected us to run. That has to give them pause. Then they send down a sizable ground force, which they promptly lose in spite of a nearly four to one advantage. Afraid may not actually be the right word, though. I don’t think, for example, that they’re afraid of a ship to ship engagement, if necessary, but I wonder if they might be concerned about the repercussions that attacking us might have for them with the Pelarans. Keep in mind that the Pelarans seem to be all about their search for the precursor humanoid civilization —”
“The ‘Makers.’”
“Right, and according to the Pelarans, we Terrans are one of the so-called ‘child’ civilizations they seeded. So, if we believe what the Guardian has told us about our being genetically identical to the Pelarans, I think it’s safe to assume that attacking us without provocation would be … frowned upon within the Alliance.”
“I suppose that might explain why they would prefer to provoke us, rather than just attacking us outright.”
“That and they can’t, for the life of them, figure out why we haven’t raised our shields,” Prescott chuckled. “So, they lob a few shots in our general direction, assuming that if we have shields at all, we’ll h
ave no choice but to raise them.”
“If that’s true, then they may now believe that they have a huge tactical advantage. So, you think they’ll attack,” Schmidt said, stating his question as a matter of fact.
“Yes, if they didn’t already consider a seven to one numerical advantage as sufficient, now they have even more of a reason to be confident of victory … so, yes, I think they will almost certainly attack.”
“The doors are opening, Captain,” Lieutenant Lau reported from Tactical 2.
It seemed like hours had passed since Ensign Fisher had placed the destroyer in a position to provide cover for the Marines’ assault shuttles, after which Lau had placed a zoomed-in view of the maintenance hangar — now directly beneath the ship — on the bridge view screen. Now, at long last, a vertical streak of light could be seen as the doors parted in the middle, then promptly opened to partially reveal the building’s interior. Mercifully, only a few additional seconds passed before the first Gurkha assault shuttle emerged from within. Immediately after clearing the hangar doors, the small ship banked aggressively in the general direction of Theseus’ stern and began a rapid climb for the relative safety of the destroyer’s aft flight apron.
The shuttle was less than halfway through its ascent when the entire area was bathed in the light of energy weapons fire as well as the bright white flashes associated with gravitic shield intercept events.
“Helm, whatever happens, you hold this position. Do you understand?” Prescott said firmly. “Those shuttles won’t last a second if they get beyond our shield radius.”
“Aye, sir, I got it,” Fisher replied with more confidence than he felt at the moment.