“A record, actually,” Specialist Gonzales said, looking up from his datapad. “By more than two hundred miles.”
“You see?” he said. “Your chance to get your name into the history books. Assuming this whole operation isn’t classified.” With a sigh, he added, “Technically, this assignment is volunteer only. If anyone wants to back out, you can stay on the shuttle and return direct to Alamo.”
He looked around, and though he saw doubt in some of their eyes, none of them said anything.
“Right, then. The first two shuttles are heading for the station. We’re going to go over it, drop the decoys, then bail out. Get your rifles, and suit up. We’re decompressing the cabin for this one so we can all go out together. And one more thing. If you’re first burn takes you off course, don’t be tempted to do a second. The decoys are in a nice wide cone, so you’ll still be covered, even if you aren’t on an interception course. We do this in two burns, one to accelerate, one to slow. Communications silence until the second burn. Clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Vaughan said. The man was a veteran, recalled to duty after a long time out of the ranks. Another reason that Cooper had picked this squad. By quite a large margin, Vaughan was the most experienced NCO in the platoon, even if two of the others outranked him.
Pulling down his suit from the rack on the wall, he watched the rest of the squad get ready for the assault, laughing and joking around, throwing mock insults at each other. A defense mechanism, anything to distract them from what they were about to do, anything to stop themselves second-guessing their actions until it was too late. He slid into his suit, tapping a control to start the power-up procedure, then reached down for his plasma rifle, clipping it to his side.
“You’ve got five seconds to tell me if you aren’t ready yet,” he said, his voice echoing from the speaker on his chest. None of the troopers said a word, and his tactical indicator was a sea of green, so he said, “Grogan, we’re clear for depress.”
“Roger, Ensign. Depressurizing now.”
Amber lights began to flash around the compartment as the air pressure dropped away, turning to red as the last traces of atmosphere were sucked out of the cabin. A stream of data ran down the left side of his screen faster than he could read it, the navigation computer getting ready for the jump. He caught himself holding his breath, and forced himself to look up at his men, a smile on his face.
“We go in ninety seconds. Everyone line up behind me at the airlock. Jump at one second intervals. If something goes wrong with your suit, step to the left and remain on the shuttle. We’ve got a twelve second window, and anyone outside that time stays on the ship. Is that understood?”
A chorus of confirmation returned his question.
“Communications silence from the moment I open the airlock. Any last questions?”
Stewart replied, “This a good time to tell you about my claustrophobia?”
“You might have left that a little too late,” Cooper replied with a chuckle. “Right, good luck, and I’ll see you all on the other side. Harper, you follow me. The rest of you in fire teams.”
He walked over to the airlock, tapping the override to open both doors at once, and looked out into the darkness beyond. A clock flashed up on his heads-up display, counting down the seconds until he was to take his leap. He stepped forward, planting his feet on the edge of the hatch. The shuttle was just drifting at the moment, already on its trajectory.
Then, suddenly, there were thousands more stars than there had been, as the shuttle launched its decoys and chaff, spilling out from either side of the craft into a plume that would accompany them all the way to their target. Ten seconds. Nine. Eight.
The second arrived, and he pushed himself out, his suit jets instantly pushing him onto the correct trajectory, matching course and speed with the chaff, spinning him around. Behind him, the rest of his squad was leaping out after him, Harper, Vaughan, Stewart, Gonzales. Then a pause, a hold-up, before the next one followed. It had taken too long, and the window closed with three of his men still in the shuttle. He saw Martinez hesitate, wondering if she might make it after all, but she closed the hatch, stepping back into the airlock.
His own orders prevented him giving any reassurance to the squad. All of them seemed to be on the correct trajectory, following the shining stars on the road to the relay station up ahead. He looked at the target again, the image intensifier throwing it into stark relief. No apparent change to target aspect, though someone would have told him by now if there was.
Still eighty-nine percent fuel left. That first burn hadn’t done much, just make sure that they were on the right trajectory. Most of their remaining fuel would go in the deceleration burn, three hours ahead. A long time to float in the dark.
It surprised him how disconnected he felt, as though he was all alone in the universe. His own little world, floating onwards through eternity. At least until he ran out of oxygen, in around thirty-one hours, or until someone picked him up. He couldn’t even turn to look at the station behind him, not without risking detection. Just more decoys, tumbling through the night.
Reaching down to the keypad on his sleeve, he started to type in commands. There was no sense dwelling on any of this, nothing he could do. Some music, something nice and soft, something unobtrusive, and he could just sit back and enjoy the view. With an alarm set for two hours, fifty minutes, just in case. Though the suit would slow him down automatically, it wouldn’t do to go into battle after only having woken up a minute before.
His precautions were wise, and his eyes drifted shut after only a few minutes. One of the marks of a true veteran was the ability to snatch sleep whenever he could, and he couldn’t think of a better time, or a more peaceful place. The blaring alarm dragged him back to reality, and as he shook his head, taking a sip of water through his helmet straw, he looked at the station again.
Everyone was still with him, the six Espatiers who had made the jump along with Harper. Four and three, in two waves. Ordinarily he’d have left the civilian at the back, but there just wasn’t time with this assault. As soon as they knew that they were on their way, all hell was going to break loose, and every second mattered. He glanced around, trying to see some of the approaching shuttles, but all he could see was stars. Most of them the decoys, still traveling with them.
Five minutes left. He’d assumed that the interior layout of the relay station was along the normal lines. All that really mattered was the operations room, usually at the central core. As long as that was where he expected, this would work. He tapped up a typical deckplan, briefly reviewed it, but hoped that his squad hadn’t spent the whole jump studying it, had opted to just relax instead. He should have warned them about that – over-prepare for the wrong target, and it could kill you in a battle.
His thoughts flashed back to the shuttle, long returned to Alamo, and the three disappointed troopers on board. He’d have to have a word with them when he got back, reassure them that it wasn’t their fault, that they’d made the right call, that in fact their decision had saved the mission and that an attempt to be a hero would have placed it in jeopardy, but he doubted that any of that would matter to them right now.
Two minutes. The jets would kick in any second. There was no sign of outer defenses, no missiles or railguns to rip them apart. Such would have been far too obvious. Inside, any second now, alarms would start to sound, and people would reach for their guns and man the defenses. He had to get there first, but as with any boarding action, the defenders had all the high cards in their hand.
The stabilizing jets kicked in, spinning him around, and his suit jets began to fire at full thrust, slowing him down at a furious rate, matching his speed with that of the relay. Suddenly, a burst of noise began to sound into his helmet, his troopers reporting in, for no other reason than the desire to hear someone else’s voice.
“Cooper to Alamo,” he said. “Contact in sev
enty seconds. Burn nominal.”
“Roger, Ensign,” Marshall replied. “We’re all holding our breath back here. You are cleared to proceed. Good hunting.”
“Thank you, sir. We’ll make it good.” Switching frequencies, he said, “Listen up, people. We’re three down, so change of plan. First four through the airlock run like hell for the central core. With a little luck, we might make it before they can get their defenses in position. Keep your suits on. Don’t fire first, but if you come under fire, return it instantly. You’ve got plasma weapons, which pretty much guarantees you will breach the hull.”
“Harper, cutting in. Watch what you shoot at, especially in the operations room. I’m going to need that equipment.”
“Roger, Harper,” Cooper said. “Forty seconds. Second group follows up, covering gaps and providing support. Alamo has a shuttle in-bound to pick us up when this is over, but that won’t be here for fifteen seconds.”
“Nash, sir,” a deceptively soft voice replied. “What if the bad guys aren’t here?”
“Then we’ve come a long way for nothing, Private, but that is why we do not fire first. My guess is that they’ll make themselves clear quickly enough. Hang tight.”
The speeds were now matched, close enough that he could hang on, and he turned around to face the station, guiding himself towards the nearest airlock. Harper was thrusting ahead, ready to hack her way in if necessary. Ten seconds left, and he reached out with his hands, looking for something to grab. He crashed into the hull, pushing back for a second before snatching at an antenna complex.
Gonzales had got closest, and swung to the airlock, triumphantly tapping the entry sequence, a smile beaming across his face for a second before it turned to horror, his body thrown back out, a bloody gouge in the middle of his suit visible as he tumbled away.
“Let them have it!” Cooper yelled, taking a shot at the airlock with his plasma rifle. This wasn’t doctrine, not in the slightest, but the resultant ball of green flame adequately dealt with the trap, as well as resolving the problem of how to open the hatch. Both of them, actually.
A cloud of air raced out through the hole, catching a cursing Stewart as it sent her tumbling away. Given a little time, she could work her way back, but that would take seconds they didn’t have. Cooper swung in, weapon raised, looking for a trap. Inside, three more suited figures were waiting for him, holding what looked like harpoon rifles with bulging tips. They fired first, but Cooper’s second shot smashed through their projectiles, vaporizing them before unleashing fury on the men behind the triggers. The blast ripped a hole into another compartment; there was a reason these weapons weren’t usually allowed in boarding operations.
“Harper, go!” he yelled, and the two of them pushed forward, heading for the central core, two others right behind them. Vaughan stayed at the airlock, glancing down the side corridor, taking a shot at something. Cooper shook his head. This wasn’t a big station, and there wasn’t going to be much left of it at this rate.
“Cooper, this is Marshall! The shuttles are on the move, course change towards the station at full thrust and override. You’ve got seconds now.”
“Roger, Alamo, we’re at the hatch.”
Harper got their first, tapping the control. As expected, it didn’t work, and Cooper made to raise his gun, but she shook her head. Spillover would be bound to wreck something inside. Tossing his rifle back towards Vaughan, he pulled his pistol out of his holster, Nash and Watkins following suit. The hacker frantically worked, and finally her efforts were rewarded as the hatch slid open, revealing a busy control center. within.
The occupants had time to don their suits and get defenses ready, but Cooper and his squad were well-trained. It was an even fight as the three of them fired, carefully aiming their shots, as rifles spat out bullets towards them. Watkins tumbled out of the way, a rip in his suit, but all three of the enemy technicians fell, their suits shattered by the armor-piercing bullets. Harper dived in, headless of the risk, right for the control computer, and Cooper gestured to Nash to cover her.
“Watkins, status?”
The trooper had tumbled to the door, Vaughan grabbing him before he could fly through the hole in the bulkhead, and replied, “Not wounded, sir. Just embarrassed. I’m getting a patch on right now, suit integrity fine otherwise. I’ll hold out until the rescue shuttle.”
“Confirm that, Ensign,” the Corporal added. “The lad’s fine. And Stewart is on her way in right now.”
“Harper, what’s the story?” Marshall asked.
“Working, working. There’s extra encryption, late-model UN stuff.”
“You’ve got ten seconds.”
Cooper pushed back in, looking at her work, watching data flash up on one of a dozen monitors. Harper was focused on the keyboard, her hands almost a blur, but the seconds were ticking, and even though he wasn’t a hacker, something was clear. It was going to take too long.
“Not yet, not yet,” she muttered, and the last second flowed away. Cooper looked down at the deck, shaking his head. One man dead, and for nothing. Harper’s hands lifted from the terminal, and she looked up at him, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.
“Harper?” Marshall’s subdued voice said.
“I couldn’t do it. Not in time.”
Shaking his head, Cooper said, “No. This isn’t over yet. Harper, can you hack in at all?”
“Twenty seconds will do it.”
“Then do it. We can’t change their course, but I’d bet there is something else we can do. Unlock their communicators for a start.”
“Shuttle engines off,” a dejected Kibaki reported. “Likely out of fuel.”
“I’m in,” Harper said. “Though I don’t know what good it can do. They can’t change their course.”
“Yes they can,” Cooper replied. “I’ve done it myself. Sound the decompression alarm in all of the shuttles, right now. We’ll give them thirty seconds. Alamo, Cooper here. How much of a course change do they need at this point?”
“In the right direction, a meter per second would be more than enough,” Kibaki said. “They haven’t even got maneuvering thrusters, though.”
“They won’t need them for this. How are you doing, Harper?”
“I’ve panicked them. If they are following normal drills, they’ll be in their suits by now.”
“Blow their airlocks. Full overrides, I want a complete evacuation of the inner cabin.”
“What?” she said.
“That’s the velocity differential they’re going to need.”
“And if they didn’t follow the alarm…”
“Then they die right now instead of in thirteen hours’ time. Hit it.”
She paused for a second, holding her hand over a control, and depressed it. He looked down at her, and realization hit him. She’d thought of it too, had set it up. She just couldn’t make the decision. Her face locked with his for a second, relief in her eyes, and he smiled.
“Alamo, this is Cooper, do you read?”
A cacophony of shouting echoed through his helmet, and it took him a few seconds to register them as cheering. Evidently it had worked.
“Cooper, Marshall here! They’re going all over the place, but they’re going to miss the station, Alamo, and everything else. We’re getting updated course projections right now, so there’s no danger of collision. Picking them up is going to take days, but we’ve got the time to do it.”
“Thank you, sir, but Harper was the one who made it work.”
“Shuttle One is on the way to you right now, docking in ten minutes. Our sensors suggest that you might have to make your own way across.”
“No problem, sir. I must report one fatality. Specialist Gonzales.”
There was a pause, and Marshall said, “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve got an SAR shuttle on the way to retrieve the body right now. I’ll see
you back on Alamo when you land. Marshall out.”
“Aye, sir,” Cooper said, looking around at the devastation his men had wrought. Gesturing at Vaughan, he made his way down the tunnel, back out away from the core. If he was going to have to float across to the station anyway, he might as well get started now. The sooner he was out of this place, the better.
Chapter 10
“How is she, Doc?” Marshall asked, looking down at Orlova’s still frame, festooned with wires and tubes, lying on the medical bed.
Duquesne looked up at him, sighed, and said, “You’re lucky I didn’t have any other business today. She’ll live, and will make a full recovery.”
Sighing in relief, he replied, “Remind me to give you a promotion at some point.”
“I’d settle for a nice, dull life.” She looked down at Orlova, and said, “It’s going to take weeks, though. Days in here, longer off-duty.” With a thin smile, she said, “Well, light duty. That’s probably the best I can hope for, knowing Maggie. She’s going to have to get used to a new hand, for a start.”
“You couldn’t save it?”
“There wasn’t much left to save,” she replied, “and I had bigger problems just keeping her alive. Spinal injuries are nasty, especially up near the neck. You want to give anyone a commendation, give it to Garland. He kept her alive.”
“He had a nice surprise waiting for him when he got back to his cabin. I promoted him to Senior Spaceman on the spot.”
“Good. Maggie’s hand will be good as new, don’t worry about that. After a little while she won’t even be able to tell the difference in terms of performance.”
“How long?”
“Eight weeks is the usual time. Though she’ll have partial use as soon as she regains consciousness.” Duquesne looked at him, square in the eyes, and said, “Yes, she can keep those wings of hers, but she isn’t doing anything where reaction time is a factor for weeks. I mean that. No flying fighters, no dangerous planetary missions.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Not In My Name Page 8