by Jay Allan
Ten shafts of white-hot exhaust blazed out from the rear. Within moments, they’d had their effect, and a huge section of the door crumpled inward. Cutting the thruster power, he thumbed open the comm.
“Daniels, you’re clear to go. Navigate the carrier so your ass sticks into that bay, then engage a gravitic brake.”
“Gravitics are out, sir. Thrusters only.”
Damn.
“Told you we should have thought it through,” said Kit.
Jake ignored him. “Daniels, maneuver in anyway, and wedge the ship against what’s left of the bay door, then fire full reverse thrusters for a quarter of a second. That’ll get you stuck in there nice and good. Rooster and I will back up against you and hold you in for a minute till you guys can all disembark. All suited up?”
“Affirmative, sir. Just give the word.”
Jake smiled. “Go! Happy hunting.”
“Aye, sir.”
Kit eyed the sensor screen for contacts, and assured that they were clear, looked out at the raging space battle all around them. “You better hope this works.”
“It will, Kit.” Jake eyed the concern on Kit’s face. “And if it doesn’t, it’s all my responsibility. You’re clear of this.” He wondered what would happen to him if it didn’t work, if somehow the marines got stuck outside the carrier but couldn’t get inside the hallways beyond the landing bay. Demoted, most likely. Sent to prison for a few months or years—the Resistance had no problem recruiting these days and he was certainly replaceable.
They watched as the carrier slowly rotated into position, its rear flank pointing towards the gaping hole in the bay door. Thin white jets streamed out of the front thrusters—less than one percent power, Jacob judged—and the craft gradually drifted backward into the hole, until he could almost swear he heard the creaking and squealing of the protesting metal. In fact, they did hear it, coming over the open comm.
Jake nodded. “That’s right, Daniels, nice and easy. When you stop, punch it for a quarter second.”
“Aye, sir.”
The carrier inched backward, until finally the remains of the metal door had given all they could yield, and the advance stopped. The thrusters roared to life for a fraction of a second and the carrier jolted backward momentarily, wedging itself firmly into place. Jake maneuvered the front of the fighter up to the ruined remains of the carrier, until the nose of his craft nestled firmly in the wreckage. Jake smiled. Like they’re kissing.
Groaning metal reverberated through the cabin as Jake applied nominal power to the aft thrusters. “That’s it, Daniels, we’re nudged up against you good and tight. It’s all you now. Good luck, soldier.”
“Thank you, viper six. Give us two minutes to get out. We’ll leave a medic behind to tend the wounded, so don’t go nowhere. Daniels out.”
Just as the marine signed off, Kit swore. “Multiple contacts. Six o’clock. Three—no four. And that’s not all. Jake,” he looked up to the pilot, “they’re coming from a new capital ship that shifted into orbit just ten klicks away. Corsican. From Bismark, by the looks of it.”
So, a Bismarkian capital ship. Jake gritted his teeth. Bismark was the other world, along with New Kyoto and Corsica, that formed the first triumvirate of worlds in the early Corsican empire, and had the reputation of being the most ruthless of the three. He peered out the viewport.
Sure enough, there it was, just barely visible, barreling towards Liberty Station. Packed with over fifty railguns and a host of laser turrets and ion-beam cannons, the massive Bismarkian capital cruiser had built up a reputation for itself over the years—one of heavy-handed repression and destruction.
“I assume command has seen it. Ask for more cover,” said Jake. He heard Kit talk with central command as he thumbed his comm open. “Crash, you see that?”
“Yeah, I see it. We’re about to have one hell of a ride.”
Kit turned to look at him. “Command says the Fury is still occupied with the other two Corsican capital ships. They can spare two squads of fighters and three frigates to help, but that’s it.” He glanced out the side viewport at the rapidly approaching vessel. “They’re nearly here.”
A slow whistle over the comm burst the momentary silence. “Well doesn’t that just suck Rooster’s giant co—”
“Crash, cover us until the last of the marines get off the carrier, then we’re heading out there with you,” Jake said, interrupting the man before Kit blew a gasket.
“What about the medics and wounded still on board?”
“We can defend them better if we’re directly engaging the enemy rather than sitting here with our ass exposed.”
At least, that’s what Jake hoped.
-o0o=
Corporal Daniels sprang out onto the wide ramp of the carrier with four other marines and dashed to the entrance door of the landing bay, the boots of their armored ASA suits pounding against the debris-littered deck. There was no echo to hear since the bay was at vacuum, but their All-Situation-Armor had about an hour’s supply of oxygen so he was not particularly worried about air at the moment. What worried him was that the door from the bay into the rest of the central shaft was closed, and probably locked. A stocky marine bent down to test the handle, and sure enough, it didn’t budge.
“Stand aside,” said the marine next to him, a wiry young woman shouldering a plasma-rpg launcher.
“Take cover!” she yelled, but didn’t even wait for anyone to move or crouch down. Their ASA suits would more than protect them, and besides, they were in a hurry, dammit.
A bright ball of intense, blinding energy shot across the bay, slamming into the door. Extreme induced temperature gradients within the door vaporized pockets of metal, sending twisted fragments blasting out in all directions, peppering the surrounding marines who at least shielded their faces, and when the smoke cleared—smoke looks so odd in a vacuum, Daniels thought—the battalion began the advance through the door into the hallway beyond.
“Fox team, secure barracks and armory. Delta and Echo teams, secure command hub. Omega team, on me. Move!” Daniels still couldn’t believe he was barking out orders to a squad of marines. He had only enlisted in the Resistance Defense Service just a year ago. But with all his commanders dead, what was a grunt to do? If he hadn’t been secretly recruited by the Intelligence Service just three months ago, he might not even have been here in space but back on the ground, fighting the Corsicans on their military bases scattered across the world.
Assault rifle at the ready he crept out into the hallway, following another group of soldiers. Good. No resistance so far. Well, good or bad, depending on how one looks at it. Daniels glanced down at his oxygen level indicator and saw he had well over ninety percent left.
“Private, what’s the status of that door? Can it sustain atmospheric pressure?” He looked at one of the young men he knew had tech experience and motioned towards the door at the end of the hallway.
The short marine ran forward and examined the door controls. “Looks like it. We just need to get to the other side somehow without losing all the air behind it.” His voice suggested to Daniels that the kid was from the North American deep south. Alabama, probably, or Mississippi.
“Isn’t there an emergency bulkhead we can activate somewhere along this hallway?”
“I’m on it,” replied the private, who ran back along the hallway past the entire battalion, stopping halfway to pull off a wall panel, revealing an access terminal. After some fiddling, he announced, pointing his armored finger back to Daniels, “Y’all might want to stand over there by the corporal. Once this thing comes down it ain’t going back up.”
After the battalion repositioned itself, the private keyed the terminal, and the emergency bulkhead began a rapid descent, bisecting the hallway and effectively cutting them off from their casket of a troop carrier, and the deadly vacuum of space.
“Now blast the door. And hold on to something, people, the other side’s pressurized.”
The same ma
rine with the plasma-rpg launcher took aim at the door at the end of the hall and fired once everyone had braced themselves. With a massive rush, the air on the other side filled their hallway, and after the air, gunfire.
“Suppressing fire! Forward teams advance to cover! Go!” And so the real battle began. Daniels rushed forward into the maelstrom of bullets, most of which glanced off his armor, but occasionally out of the corner of his eye he saw a comrade fall, the projectile having found one of the few weak spots in their ASA suits. He kicked in a door halfway down the hall and raised his assault rifle.
A group of terrified mechanics huddled in a corner with their hands raised. Daniels pointed them out to the marine following him. “Watch them. We can’t leave our backs exposed.” He pointed to the squad of marines that had followed him through the door for cover. “Omega squad? Let’s get this over with. Advance down to the next room and we’ll cover,” he said, rapping another marine on the helmet. “We’ll hopscotch down the hall. The entrance to the construction ring is halfway down. Form up there.”
The men and women snapped into action. Most had been soldiers in the United Earth Defense Force for years, but only recently had everyone present signed on to the Resistance openly. There had been little time to get to know one another. Most were from disparate units, brought together only recently to liberate Earth from the Corsicans. Most of the other Earth Defense Force units had not dared to make their Resistance leanings known, but he was sure that a vast majority of the soldiers in the militaries of the five nations of Earth wanted the Corsicans out.
And it was only a few months ago that he’d joined the intelligence service as a tactical field officer. Reporting directly to Admiral Pritchard himself. He’d been so proud of that—he’d itched to tell his father—but the actual existence of the military’s new intelligence service was classified top-secret, compartmentalized. So secret that not even the Corsicans knew. Daniels wasn’t even sure the president of North America knew. But Pritchard had assured them all it was necessary, and that they’d see the fruits of their labors very soon.
He had damn well better be right.
-o0o-
A minute later, the medic on the carrier signaled that the marine deployment was complete, and Jake eased the fighter away from the wreckage of the ship wedged into the massive bay door.
“Contacts on us in ten seconds,” said Kit. “The Bismarkian ship is advancing up on one of our straggling troop carriers. Its escorts are engaging, but—” Kit broke off. Jake looked out his side viewport. The giant capital ship loomed ever closer, and two tiny explosions next to it indicated the fighter escort’s demise, followed by the far more sizeable blast of the troop carrier catching a full barrage of railgun fire from the newly arrived imperial ship.
The comm crackled on. “This is Admiral Deodatus of the Corsican Empire ship NPQR Behemoth, broadcasting to all rebel vessels. I bring a message from the Emperor and President of the Corsican Senate. A message of amnesty and good will. Cease fire immediately, and you—each of you—will be granted a full pardon. If you do not comply, you will be destroyed to maintain the pax humana.” The voice had a thick German accent, indicative of its Bismarkian heritage, but the name was definitely Corsican. All Corsicans of any status, regardless of their origin, adopted Roman names when they attained any rank or power within the empire, admirals and captains included.
Silence. The fighters that had been closing on their position now maintained their distance. Kit glanced over at Jake. “You believe him?”
Jake shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Not on your life.”
The comm crackled to life again, this time with a distinguished English accent. “This is Admiral Pritchard of the USS Fury, speaking for all United Earth ships. Admiral Deodatus, good day to you, sir.” The Admiral’s voice sang out of the speakers as if the British gentleman were simply inviting a dear friend over for tea. “I’ve been in contact with Earth Fleet command in Dallas, and I believe I have an answer for your Emperor. I may not have my terminology quite right, sir, my North-American counterparts employ an odd vocabulary at times, but my superiors have directed me to answer you … to suck our hairy balls. I believe they meant bollocks, sir. Also, to get the hell off our comm channel—it’s what we’re using to communicate with each other to blow you out of the sky, after all—do be a gentleman about it.”
Jake and Kit, in spite of themselves and their grim situation, snorted with laughter. The British Admiral, in the short time Jake had served under him, had won over the undying loyalty of every space jock in the fleet with his deadpan wit, and more importantly, his brilliantly wicked second sense of strategy and tactics.
Admiral Deodatus’s voice boomed over the speakers in response. “Pritchard, come now. We went to the academy together. You were just a few years ahead of me, but I saw you there. I respected you. Everyone respected you—you were brilliant, after all, no finer tactician in the fleet. Now look at what you’ve become. You’ve spilled the innocent blood of thousands, all in the name of an unjust war for an unjust cause. The Pax Humana has ensured peace and prosperity for over a hundred years against the pirates and scum that would rob us of our freedom and our lives. Is that what you want? To return to those dark days?”
Admiral Pritchard answered immediately. “From the frying pan into the fire, I say. At least with pirates we didn’t have to request in triplicate if we could blow our noses, old boy. No, I believe our answer is what it always has been. Get the hell off our world, and then we will talk. Good day, sir. All hands, continue the battle plan. Pritchard out.”
“Pritchard, I—” Admiral Deodatus began to protest, but the comm cut out—jamming no doubt from the USS Fury. Within moments, a barrage of railgun fire erupted from the Behemoth, pelting the approaching frigates with a withering assault of explosive projectiles. The two promised squadrons of fighters descended on the massive capital ship and began blasting away at the railgun turrets and ion beam cannons, dodging the fire of both the Behemoth and the swarm of enemy fighters that spilled out of its bays.
“Kit, let’s get over there. What happened to those contacts?”
“They changed course to intercept the frigates engaging the Behemoth.”
Jake pushed the controls forward and the fighter leaped out to join the fray. He had never flown in such chaos—railgun fire sailed past in a blur, and a torrent of ion fire and conventional fighter gunfire raked across his field of view as he leaped and dodged and looped his way through the raging battle. “Crash, cover us while we take out that tower,” he yelled into the comm as he sped toward an ion beam cannon installation on the huge, M-shaped cruiser.
“They’re locking onto us, Shotgun,” Kit said.
“Got it.” Jake rolled the fighter and swerved just as the crackling blue beam leapt out of the cannon, missing them by a meter. Sparks flew out of a panel between them as the induction from the passing beam wreaked havoc on the electrical system.
“We good, Kit?”
“Long range sensors are out, but we’re fine.”
“Good. Take it out.”
“Torpedoes locked. And … away.” Kit held his breath as he squeezed the torpedo trigger, and two half-meter long rockets shot out of the bow. Jake grinned. Sporting a mere half a microgram of antimatter each, the torpedoes would sure catch the imperials’ attention. Counter-measure fire burst out of the cannon towards the torpedoes, catching one, which detonated in a tremendous explosion, but the other found its mark. Jake pulled the fighter up just as the tower erupted in a fireball, quickly extinguished by space.
“Yeehaw! Nice shooting, Rooster!” Crash called over the comm.
“Look out, Crash, two on your tail,” said Kit.
Jake swooped the fighter around to trail the two bogeys, and with flawless precision, Kit took them out with a single burst each.
Jake let loose with a whoop, and aimed the bow at the next unlucky Corsican fighter. He peered out his window at the frigates pounding away at the Behemoth, but
it was clear the two smaller vessels were sustaining massive damage themselves from the constant barrage of railgun and ion beam cannon fire.
“How much longer do you think the frigates have?” Jake asked. He tried not to sound glum, but it was difficult.
“Minutes,” said Kit. “I’m not sure what Pritchard has got up his sleeve, but now’s the time.”
Jake nodded, watching as explosion after explosion rocked the two smaller frigates hovering near the massive Behemoth. “Agreed.”
-o0o-
The advance down the central hallway of the hub of the construction ring was grueling to say the least, and Daniels estimated that they’d lost up to a quarter of their soldiers. But at last they reached the center of the hub, and he led Omega team down the hallway that would grant them access to the construction ring itself, and from there, the real target.
The reason for the whole operation that day.
He watched as the other teams proceeded to their destinations, then turned to run with his squad down the hallway, this one far narrower than the central hub’s. Relaxing a little, he let his rifle down slightly as he knew there would be very few enemy marines this direction—away from the command hub. The enemy would expect all of them to converge on that central location, which made sense since all shipyard functions could be controlled from there.
The defending imperials would not be expecting the boarding parties to have any interest in a skeleton.
He peered out a window as they passed it, and surveyed the massive hulk of a ship that was still in an early stage of construction. Girders and ribbing spanned its length and breadth, indicating an elegant sweep of arms destined to hold fighter bays and gravitic drives. But it was only a skeleton. A skeleton with a beating heart, as the head of military intelligence and Admiral Pritchard himself had assured him.
Pritchard had ensured that the construction of the next-generation battleships in the shipyards were far enough along that at least some of the ships had rudimentary thrusters and at least one gravitic drive installed, along with its antimatter engine. And this one had all three gravitic drives, by the looks of it. He touched the name etched on the entrance to the tube that spanned the distance from the construction ring to the ship itself.