“Looks like a computer matrix,” Watkins said. “Looks familiar, too.”
“On this ship?”
“Sir, that looks a hell of a lot like an old UN design. Want me to try and hack it?”
“Be my guest.”
Hunt yelled, “We’re under fire! Heavy assault, and they’ve got plasma!”
“Go, sir, I’ll hold here,” Watkins said.
With a curt nod, Cooper sprinted out of the room, racing down the corridor, weapon at the ready. A body lay on the deck, unidentifiable, twisted and burned, and Hunt was crouched behind the frame of a blast door as a hail of bullets cracked overhead, sending Cooper diving for any available cover.
“Pinned down, sir,” Hunt said. A burst of green flame shot into the wall beside him, tearing into the compartment beyond. The enemy didn’t seem to have any compunction about destroying their own ship. Cooper tried to peer over, but the only answer was another burst of automatic fire. He did see more shapes, moving forward, another cluster of attackers.
“They’ll be on us in a minute, and we don’t have the firepower to stop them,” Hunt said.
“Yes we do. That blast door work?” Cooper replied.
His eyes widening, the veteran said, “Not damaged, but I don’t know how to trigger it.”
“I know how.”
“Sir, neither of us would live long enough to take the shot.”
Pulling his communicator out, Cooper said, “Alamo, come in, urgent.”
“We’re here,” Marshall said, sirens and alarms blaring over the channel.
“I need fire support. A missile. Targeted a hundred meters forward from my current position. Lowest possible yield.”
“What?”
“If we don’t get it, we’re dead, sir. My call.”
There was a brief pause, and Marshall replied, “I hope you know what you are doing, Ensign. It’s on the way.”
“Sir,” Hunt said, “We’ll be killed.”
Another burst of plasma fire raced overhead, catching Barnard and enveloping him in green flame, his body dropping to the deck.
“We’ll all die if we don’t. Hopefully these doors work on pressure drop. Hang on.”
The noise of the missile impact sounded like the end of the world, the warhead slamming into the hull, gouging a hole through both bulkheads into the dark abyss beyond. Air began to race out into space, carrying the enemy troopers with it, and despite all he could do, Cooper found himself being pulled with it, the blast doors only just closing in time.
“Secure,” Cooper said. “Go up and support Gurung.” A door to the side opened, and Cooper waved his gun around to see a terrified looking figure in a UN uniform, his eyes almost bulging out of his sockets as he saw the Espatiers.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t kill me! I’m not hostile!”
Glancing at Hunt, Cooper said, “We’re a little busy. You brainwashed?”
“No, no. They got the others but not me. They’ve held me here for weeks.”
“Damn. You sure there isn’t anyone else?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. They never said.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Harland. Professor. Of cosmology.”
Barnard stumbled out of another compartment, a bag in his hands and blood running down his sleeve from a wound on his shoulder. Cooper threw the figure at him, gesturing for them to make for the shuttle.
“Four minutes to go. By now there are other assaults taking place. Let’s get this finished and get the hell out of here.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Barnard said, his face growing white.
Turning to Harland, he said, “You know first aid?”
“Yes.”
“Get to our shuttle, patch him up, and wait. That’s your ticket home.”
“My things…”
“Move, damn it!! We’re out of time!”
As the two of them stumbled away, he raced down to the far side of the corridor, where Gurung and Martinez were frantically throwing together a barricade out of anything they could find, building some protective cover against the attackers moving in. Cooper took a shot at the ceiling, bringing debris down in a random pile at the far side, then waved them on as he charged past. He didn’t know what they needed from this ship, but they hadn’t found it. Not yet.
Another door in the corridor, and it slid open to reveal a long, narrow compartment with metal benches facing a strange, jagged symbol on the wall. He took shots of it with his helmet camera, making sure to capture every detail.
“A chapel,” Gurung said, looking in. “God only knows what they are worshiping, but it must be.” He gestured up at the ceiling, more shapes scattered around. “That one looks a little familiar.”
“Constellations!” Cooper said. “That’s a very twisted Orion up there.”
Shaking his head, Gurung replied, “It can’t be that simple.”
“How hard does it have to be?” There were books scattered around, old ones, made of paper, and he grabbed one, stuffing it under his arm. “Come on. We’ve still got three minutes. One more room will do it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something shimmering, a figure seeming to step out of nowhere, weapon drawn and leveled at his throat, ready to fire. Before he could move, Gurung pulled a blade from his belt and swung towards the figure in a swift, smooth motion, hacking into its throat and sending it crashing to the deck, clutching at the gaping wound as blood splattered out onto the floor.
“What was that?” Cooper asked.
“One of the not-men, I presume.”
“No, the weapon.”
Holding the blade with a smile, he said, “My kukri. My ancestors used them in the service of the British. Now we use them in the service of the United Nations. Of course, the weapons my ancestors wielded were not diamond-tipped.”
“I'm glad you're on our side,” Cooper said. “Let's go.”
Martinez and Rhodes charged past them, taking up a defensive position at the far end of the corridor, just behind the pile of debris Cooper had created. Gurung added to it with a second quick pulse, sending dust flying through the air, as they made it to the next door.
“Why aren’t they attacking?” Rhodes asked. “Where the hell are they?”
“Six squads are on the ground by now,” Cooper replied. “They’ll think it’s a full-blown invasion. Don’t get complacent. My guess is they’ll attack any minute.” The ship rumbled, the sound of a pair of impacts on the hull further forward. “Assuming Alamo doesn’t smash the ship to pieces first.”
The door slid open, into a sparsely furnished room, a hard bed, desk, chair, and an old-fashioned viewscreen set into the wall, the display dark. Cooper touched it, and nothing happened.
“Turned off.”
“I don’t think it’s a touchscreen,” Gurung said, shaking his head. “Strange.”
The desk was covered in papers, scrawled with some sort of strange writing. Glancing around the room, Cooper saw a shelf of books, old-fashioned hard-backed books.
“Why take these into space?”
“Maybe he was a collector?” Gurung replied, doubtfully, snatching a carryall from under the bed. “In here, sir.”
Nodding, Cooper swept the library into the bag, stuffing the papers from the desk in with them for good measure. As he took one last look around, he heard a loud crash from the corridor, and he raced out to see that the blast door between the two compartments had closed.
“Here they come!” Martinez yelled as the elevator doors opened. Cooper fired a shot, as did Rhodes, but both of them were slightly off target, the plasma bolts crashing into the wall to the left as a trio of guards raced forward, all of them with UN plasma weapons in their hands. The reinforcements, coming in.
“I can’t find a control,” Gurung said, running his hands acro
ss the wall. “Blast it?”
Cooper slumped into cover, glancing at his watch, and replied, “No point, no time. We’ve got to get out of here now.” He gestured at a panel in the wall, and said, “The only place that can go is an escape pod.”
A ball of green plasma fire flew overhead, slamming into the door behind him, raining bolts of molten metal into the deck all around him. Rolling out of the way, he tried to fire his carbine, but nothing happened. A quick glance revealed that one of those shards had neatly severed the connection between the gun and the power pack.
Gurung looked at him, shook his head, and said, “Get moving. I’ll cover you.”
Cooper leapt to his feet, bullets smashing into the wall around him, and wrenched the cover off. He felt a burst of pain in his side, a trickle of blood running down his leg, and tumbled into the pod. Martinez was next, almost seeming to dance through the bullets, bounding into the capsule with a single shot.
Gritting his teeth, Cooper looked for the controls. Escape pods were meant to be idiot-proof, and this one was no exception. A single, big red button, with a pair of switches on each side. As he poised his finger over it, Rhodes tumbled into the pod, his hand clenched over a gaping wound on his right arm, blood seeping through his fingers.
“Come on, Sergeant!” Cooper yelled. Gurung fired a pair of shots in quick succession, then sprinted down the corridor, swaying from side to side, a plasma ball missing him by only a few inches, enough to turn the side of his face red from the heat. With a last grunt, he ducked into the pod, and Cooper tapped what he hoped was the button.
For a heartbreaking second, nothing happened, but then the hatch slammed shut, and with a loud report, a pair of explosive bolts send the pod tumbling into space. Cooper reached for his communicator, but he pulled a tangle of broken components out.
“I’ll be damned,” Gurung said. “One inch either side…”
Sighing, Cooper said, “Martinez, see if you can find anything resembling a first-aid kit. And contact Alamo, make sure they know we need help. It’s up to them now.”
Chapter 28
Marshall looked at the sensor display, frowning as he watched escape pods and shuttles spill away from the battlecruiser, out into open space. Another pair of salvos had just smashed into each other, the debris field growing thicker with every exchange of shots.
“We’ll be changing course soon,” he said. “Foster, stand by to bring us into a higher orbit. Put us between them and the hendecaspace point.” He glanced at the sensors again and asked, “Why isn’t the Zheng He firing?”
“Why would they?” Caine said. “When they can sit back and pick up all the pieces, to their benefit, after the battle? The way we’re going now, it won’t take much to finish off the winner.”
“We should get moving immediately,” Foster said. “We’re sitting ducks unless we can open up the range, especially without support.”
Meirong looked at the image on the screen, shaking her head, “I will see that he answers for this failure to act when he returns to Luna, if that’s any consolation.”
“I’d rather have that ship firing now!” Marshall replied. “At this rate, it isn’t going to matter what goes on his formal report when he gets home. We won’t be around to write it.”
“Energy spike!” Spinelli yelled. “Six missiles, heading our way, full speed.”
“Deadeye,” Marshall began, but she broke in.
“On it. Launch in one second.”
The ship rocked as six more missiles raced from the launch tubes to meet their counterparts, five of them crashing into each other, the remainder sweeping past in a near miss.
“Damn,” Caine said. “Brace for impact!”
A roar ripped across the hull, a breach far too close to the bridge, and the lights momentarily flickered as the internal power network struggled to compensate for the malfunctions. Orlova frantically started to transfer systems, poking at the controls, her gaze locked on the distribution monitors.
“I don’t think we want to take too many more hits like that, sir,” she said.
“Shuttles will be on the deck in two minutes, sir. Escape pods are going to be longer, I have SAR in the air en route right now.”
Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Foster, kick us to full acceleration. Put us into a higher orbit, and give me some distance for the laser. The shuttles will have to catch up.”
“Danny, it’s dangerous around here,” Caine said.
“Casualty reports, sir,” Grant said. “The last missile hit Astrogation. One dead, nine wounded.”
“Who?”
“Sub-Lieutenant McGuire.”
Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Get us moving, Midshipman. Deadeye, give them a shot between the eyes as soon as they are in range. Weitzman, try and get through to the Zheng He again. I’ve got some harsh language to introduce to her captain.”
The elevator doors opened, and Harper stepped out onto the bridge, shaking her head, “Belay that. Let me take the communications station.”
Stepping clear, Weitzman said, “Given how untalkative everyone around here is, I might as well.”
“What have you got in mind?”
Looking up at Meirong, she said, “Republic ships have the capacity for remote override of critical command systems. The two of us might be able to hack it.”
“That’s insane,” Caine said. “If anyone ever found out...”
“I can neither confirm or deny this report,” Meirong said.
“Pity, because I think I can do it by myself, but then I’ll know exactly how to do it again,” Harper replied. “If you help me, then you ought to be able to hide the details from me, and save yourselves a lot of time, money, and processing power.”
Shaking her head, the agent said, “Move over. This will take but a moment, Captain.”
“Make it fast,” Marshall replied. Alamo was rising now, her engines firing to gain altitude. The shuttles were still struggling to catch up, and as he watched, the enemy ship launched another salvo, Spinelli yelling a warning a second in advance. Caine was on the countermeasures before he could give the order, sending another strike out to block it. This time it looked different, though, the trajectory subtly altered.
“They’re going for the shuttles!” he yelled. “Deadeye…”
“Damn,” she said. “Changing course, but I don’t know if I can do anything.”
All he could do was watch as the six missiles curved towards the fleeing ships, racing in a desperate bid to find their salvation. Caine was good, very good, and almost good enough to pull off the maneuver. Four of the missiles reached their targets, the two shuttles they were protecting racing for Alamo. Two of them missed, moving through the space that the remaining shuttle had been in, just a second too late.
“Get vengeance, Deadeye,” he ordered. “Use them.”
“On it. And Foster, I’m going to want a targeting solution in one-five seconds.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the midshipman replied.
“How many?” Marshall asked.
“If it had to be one, we got lucky,” Grant said. “That shuttle only had two people on it. The rest of Cooper’s assault team got out in escape pods. Squads One and Two are clear as well.”
“Two troopers?” Orlova said.
“Just one,” Grant replied. “And someone they rescued. Some professor. Poor bastard.”
Shaking her head, Caine said, “He knew something. Must have. They sent two missiles against that, only one against the others. It can’t be a coincidence.”
“Coming about for laser shot,” Foster said, and Caine tapped the control an instant after the computer, sending a pulse of energy racing down to smash into the enemy vessel. With the two missiles as well, the impact was colossal, her hangar deck a twisted ruin, gouges ripped from the hull on every side.
“We’ve
got the Zheng He!” Foster yelled. “That Captain’s going to be annoyed.”
“Grant, take it,” Marshall said. “Bring it forward into the fight and fire at will.”
“The controls are that good?” Caine asked.
“All Republic hardware is well-designed, Lieutenant,” Meirong said. “We take pride in our work, as much pride as we do in ourselves.”
“I’ll let you put up the propaganda poster later,” Marshall replied, “but thank you.”
“Salvo away!” Grant said. “They had one in the tubes already.”
“That should swing the odds back in our favor.”
The Republic vessel dived in at full-speed towards the battle, its missiles racing forward to make contact with the enemy, no doubt with its impotent commander still ranging at the Confederation. It made no difference. The enemy ship threw up another salvo, but again, Caine was ready, and this time the shuttlecraft were on final approach, rather than out on their own.
A few seconds later, six explosions briefly ripped through the cosmos, and the screen cleared once again, only four missiles inexorably making their way towards their goal. The enemy ship turned, its engines ramping up to full acceleration, but before they could get any velocity built up, the missiles smashed into her, catching her in four points on the aft section.
“Wow,” Spinelli said. “Lots of heat back there now, sir. I think we started a few fires inside.”
“They’ll vent into space,” Marshall said. “Let’s give them more practice.”
“Foster, laser shot in one-one seconds,” Caine said.
“Coming about, ma’am. Anywhere special?”
“Right between the eyes would be good if you can manage it.”
A roguish smile creeping across her face, she replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
This time the blast caught the enemy ship forward, and the nose ripped away, venting gas into space from a dozen places, sending her tumbling, rocking on her thrusters as her pilot made a desperate attempt to regain any sort of control. Her main engines winked back on, and she started to move again.
“Where’s she going?” Marshall asked.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Not In My Name Page 23