Citadel: Troy Rising II

by John Ringo

  "And we solve that how?" the commodore asked.

  "Put them on one of their ships," Colonel Helberg said. "There's a battlecruiser that the survey team says is habitable. What's left. It broke in half in the battle so there's no drive. They're going to have to strip off the guns and missiles but the crew quarters can be sealed off from that area while they are working. Environmental for that area is working."

  "Approved," the commodore said. "Make sure there's a good sized Marine detachment as guards until they get the weapons off. Strip it of everything but environmental."

  "Will do."

  "There's a lot of debris, Thermal," Dana said.

  Their search area was around one of the Horvath made battle cruisers. It didn't seem to have suffered much damage but there was still so much chaff in area it was like flying through a minefield. Bits and pieces of the ship had been blasted off and there were chunks of armor, support beams and less identifiable objects everywhere.

  The whole space around the gate was filled with drifting objects. The largest were the ships that seemed whole like the one that was their target. There were, for that matter, two Rangora battleships in view that seemed more or less intact. Being that close to an apparently functioning battleship in a cockleshell like the Myrmidon . . . ​was probably a lot like what the battleships felt up against Troy.

  There were far more that were in pieces. And bits. And fluff. It was insane. Flying into the main bay had been a piece of cake compared to this. There was no way to miss hitting debris and some of it had vectors high enough that they could puncture the shuttle's armored hull.

  "Just take it slow, Comet," Hartwell said. "Distress beacon at three-three-five mark minus six."

  "Got it," Dana said, closing with the Horvath evacuation pod. "No chance I can just blast it out of space?"

  "Didn't figure you for the bloodlust type, Comet," Hartwell said.

  "I'm from Anaheim, EM," Dana said. "Remember?"

  "Oh. Then, no, we don't get to blast them out of space, EN. Just close to dock."

  "Roger, Thermal," Dana said, flexing her jaw. It had been a long day.

  "Je-jay!" Rammer said, gesturing for the three Horvath to climb out of the escape pod. "Je-jay!"

  The docking clamps of all the local ships that were used by more or less Terran sized sophonts were identical. The original design dated from before the Glatun and just keeping the standard design made things easier.

  It certainly made securing prisoners easier.

  The Horvath came clambering out of the pod, their hand-tentacles on their helmets.

  "They really do look like squids, don't they?" Lasswell said, gesturing with his rifle for the threesome to move to the back of the cargo bay. There weren't any seats installed so the Horvath huddled against the back bulkhead.

  The extraterrestrials had six tentacles instead of eight with four used for locomotion and two as "hands." But other than that, they looked very much like terrestrial squids.

  "Yeah," Rammer said, securing the hatch. "EM, we are clear. Next customer."

  "Roger, Rammer."

  TEN

  "EM, unless you want us to start stacking, we'd better head to the barn," Rammer commed two hours later. The cargo bay was solid with Horvath. A couple had been carrying laser pistols when the shuttle docked. They'd also carefully handed them over to the Marines.

  The Horvath were didactic and dictatory when they were in positions of power. But Rammer had been a prisoner collector for the last encounter with Earth's former overlords and he'd found them to be incredibly docile when a laser rifle was in their face. Even the officers. He'd been told they weren't really officers but that was their position basically. They just bunched up in a group and sort of stroked each other. It was pathetic, really.

  "Understood," the EM replied. "We're transferring them to one of their ships that's sort of intact. We don't have quarters for them on the Troy."

  "Roger," Rammer commed. "What the frack ever, dude," he added after cutting the circuit.

  "We're full up, Dana," Thermal said.

  "They look so . . ." Dana said, spinning the shuttle around and heading for the Rangora battlecruiser that was being used as a temporary brig. The ship was trashed. She couldn't believe there were habitable areas on it but that was the destination.

  "Paris," Dana said. "I need a vector for prisoner transfer."

  "Roger, Three-Six," Paris said. "Stand by. You have shuttles in front of you."

  And there were. Dana had seen the 142 lined up on the shuttle bay but seeing most of the squadron scattered across the debris field around the ship was another thing.

  "Three-Six," Longwood commed. "What's your status?"

  "Five by, Command," Hartwell said.

  "Grapnels?"

  "Nominal, Command," Thermal replied.

  "We need to clear some of this debris while you're waiting to dock," Command said. "Take direction from CM Glass."

  "Clear debris, aye," Thermal replied.

  "See the marked debris?" Mutant commed. "Hull plate. It's on trajectory to get into our operating area. Just grab it and move it out of the way. Carefully, Comet."

  "Move the debris, aye," Dana said. "Carefully, aye. Okay, EM, how?"

  "Going to have to do a snatch," Thermal said. "I'll put a flying grapnel on it. Stabilize it. Main grapnels. Move it."

  "Okay," Dana said. "I need a vector."

  "Coming up on your system."

  Clear debris. Pick up prisoners. Drop off prisoners. Clear more debris.

  Some of the debris was Horvath. Dana wasn't sure how to feel about that. Hating an enemy with an unknown face was one thing. Seeing a bloated Horvath body, its space-suit ripped open, drifting past your shuttle in the depths of space was another.

  "This is going to be fun," Thermal said. "I've got a suit distress beacon."

  "There are a bunch of those," Dana said.

  "This one says its alive," Thermal said. "Which we are required to pick up."

  "Absolutely," Dana said.

  ". . . so you're going to have to do a snatch in EVA. Are you EVA rated?"

  "I am," Rammer said. "My co isn't. Is this guy stable?"

  "Looks good," the EM commed. "We're going to do this on readback."

  "Roger, readback," Rammer said, rolling his eyes.

  "Open inner airlock door."

  "Open inner airlock door, aye," Rammer said, rolling his eyes again.

  ✺ ✺ ✺

  Hanging out of the hatch of the boat, even if you have a safety-line clipped off, trying to grab an enemy prisoner who'd been floating in space for six hours, while debris was whizzing by your face, wasn't Rammer's idea of fun.

  "Gung-ho, sir," Rammer said. "I'm just so fracking gung-ho . . ."

  He had to admit it was a great view. Except for the Horvath who was anything but motionless.

  "Je-jay!" Rammer commed on the open channel. He wasn't even sure if the Horvath used the same channels. "Je-jay!"

  He hot-sticked the flailing suit to adjust the electrical potential between the suit and the boat and managed to get a safety line on a clip point. With that in place he hauled the squirming squid into the airlock.

  "Close outer airlock door," the EM ordered.

  "Stand by," Rammer said, kicking the squid into the corner of the airlock. It didn't seem to be responsive to reason. Or a swift kick for that matter. "Close outer door, aye . . ."

  "I think that dude needs whatever the Horvath use for a psych ward," Lassie said.

  The Horvath had popped its helmet as soon as it was in atmosphere but it was still flailing its limbs and squealing like a herd of pigs.

  "That sound is getting on my nerves," Rammer said.

  "You're not the only one," Lasswell pointed out. The other Horvath were notably agitated and were avoiding the flailing prisoner.

  "EM, we have a situation in the bay," Rammer commed.

  "Roger, Command," Hartwell said. "Comet, we have permission to return this group to the brig-sh
ip."

  "RT brig, aye," Dana said, turning the boat towards the distant big. "I'm not trying to whine, Therm, but any idea how long we're going to have to do this?"

  "No idea, Comet," Hartwell said. "Until we get orders to discontinue. Which will suck for these squids."

  "Sir, we're going to have to start on a rotation schedule," CM1 Glass said. "My coxswains are going to start making serious mistakes pretty soon."

  "Confirm," LCM Martin said. "I was just talking to squadron about that. Come up with a cycle."

  "I'd especially like to get Comet back to the bay, sir," Glass said. "She and Thermal have been having one hell of a day."

  "That's a definite confirm."

  "Je-jay!" Rammer said over his suit speakers. One of the Horvath had squirmed out of the group grope and was moving over to the prisoner.

  "Damaged," the Horvath speaker said. "Care."

  "Je-jay!" Rammer said, gesturing with his rifle. "Back. EM, ETA on getting to the brig?"

  "Thirty minutes," the EM commed.

  "I need a link to my command," Rammer said.

  "Roger."

  "Rammer, Pridgeon, go."

  "We have a POW who was Dutchman, Staff Sergeant," Rammer commed. "It's apparently insane. One of the other POWs, officer by the rank tabs, wants to administer care."

  "Roger, stand by."

  There was a few moments pause and SSGT Pridgeon came back.

  "ETA to the Brig?"

  "Thirty minutes, min."

  "Roger. Allow care."

  "Allow care, aye," Rammer said, lifting his rifle. "Go ahead," he said, gesturing to the flailing prisoner.

  The Horvath officer squirmed over to the former Dutchman and stuck a tentacle into its head. The flailing stopped.

  "Holy hell!" Rammer said, stepping over and kicking the officer away. The one absolute requirement of taking prisoners was that you kept them safe. It was drilled over and over again and any prisoner that died while in custody could be considered murder on the part of the custodians. The chief custodian being one Lance Corporal Andrew Neil Ramage. "Cover it!"

  "Got it," Lassie said, lifting his rifle. "Je-jay!"

  "Dammit!" Rammer said, checking the suit telltales. "It's dead! Staff Sergeant . . ."

  "What the hell happened?" Pridgeon said as the last, live, prisoner exited the shuttle.

  "That bastard stuck his tentacle into some spot and killed it!" Rammer said, pointing to the Horvath officer. "It said it wanted to administer care! It's on video and audio, Staff. That's what it said. ‘Damaged. Care.' Just that. And then it fricking killed it!"

  "God," Pridgeon said. "We're going to be writing reports for ever! Get the damned body."

  "It just killed it," Hartwell said, playing the clip again. "Just put it down like a dog."

  "Are we going to get in hot water?" Dana asked. Somehow, again, seeing one of the Horvath who had killed her father, and by extension her mother, killed in front of her eyes wasn't particularly satisfying.

  "Don't see why," Hartwell said. "I mean, we'll probably be called to the inquiry. But we just drive the truck. The jarheads are the ones in hot water. And looking at the vid and audio I don't see where they could have known."

  "Thirty-Six," CM Glass commed. "RTB for crew rest."

  "Uh . . ." Dana said. "You were saying?"

  It certainly sounded like they were being pulled off for the prisoner incident.

  "RTB, aye," Hartwell said, rolling his eyes. "Rammer, we're RTB. All aboard who're going aboard."

  "Stand by, EM," Rammer commed. "We're getting a confirm. Aye, EM, boarding."

  "And we have containment," Thermal said. "RTB, Comet."

  "RTB, aye."

  "And we have good seal," Thermal said. "Shutting down. And we made it back into the bay without hitting anything!"

  "EM, permission to pop my helmet in the shuttle?" Dana said, ignoring the jibe.

  "Permission granted, Comet," Hartwell said.

  "I need a bath," Dana said, climbing out of her seat and heading to the hatch. "I need to soak in hot water for about two d . . . ​ Hello."

  "Uh, hi," the Marine said. "I'm, uh, Rammer. Lance Corporal Ramage. This here's Lassie. PFC Lasswell."

  "EN Parker," Dana said, nodding.

  "Right, uh," LCP Ramage said. "We, uh, just wanted to say that we appreciate the smooth ride."

  "You're welcome?" Dana said.

  "That's it," Ramage said. "Out, Lassie."

  "Aye, aye, Lance," Lasswell said. But he kept looking over his shoulder on the way out.

  "What was that about?" Dana said as Thermal climbed through the hatch into the cargo bay.

  "You're joking, right?" Hartwell said.

  "Oh," Dana said. "Men. You're born with Johannsen's."

  "This place is . . ." The Horvath hadn't actually left that much mess. But there was enough that it was going to take some tidying. And the dead one had left an unpleasant pile of goo.

  "Hmmm . . ." Dana said. "I seem to remember it's the engineer's job to clean up the shuttle."

  "And you're an Engineer First Class," Thermal said. "Not an Engineer Mate."

  "Damn."

  "EN Parker," CM1 Glass commed.

  "EN Parker," Dana said, looking at Hartwell quizzically.

  "Report to Flight Bay for debrief."

  She looked at Thermal and shrugged. He made a face then shrugged and nodded.

  "Report to Flight Bay for debrief, aye."

  "Thermal," Glass commed. "You too. Clean-up will wait."

  "Oh . . . ​crap."

  "First of all," Glass said, looking at Hartwell and Dana, "we're not even going to try to do a PIR right now. The PIRs on this day are going to go on for months. And I can foresee all sorts of things interfering. Parker, unless you didn't hear, your fascinating entry technique to the main bay made the news."

  "We destroy an entire Horvath fleet and all they can do is bitch about an entry?" Hartwell said, shaking his head.

  "The parameters of the entry got distributed pretty quickly," Glass said. "Which means that you came out, in the media, smelling like roses, Parker. To the media. I, personally, think you did a damned fine job. That's the second thing on my agenda. I caught some flak for suggesting you for a coxswain position and my professional opinion, as well, is that I made a good choice. From what I'm looking at, now, you did everything exactly right. There were no good choices and you picked from the array of bad and chose the least bad. You delivered the mail. From my point of view, as the chief coxswain NCOIC of your flight, you performed the mission and did so to the very best of not only your ability but the best anyone could do in a screwed up situation."

  "Thank you, CM," Dana said.

  "That said," Glass continued, "that's a hot-wash analysis. That incident is going to be folded, spindled and mutilated by people who weren't there. Being in the news is, therefore, a bad thing. Because people are going to be looking to stick a knife in your back over it. My job, and the CO's job, is to keep that from happening to the best of our ability. You job is to keep your head down and do your job. Let us handle the flak."

  "Roger, CM," Dana said.

  "You wouldn't believe how far up this got kicked," Glass said. "But the decision has been made to retain you on flight status. Unfortunately, we lost Boomer, Spade and AJ on Columbia Thirty-Two so we're down two cox and an engineer. We've got spare engineers. So we're going to put you through full coxswain quals. You will be acting as a temporary coxswain until you're full qualified."

  "Yes, CM," Dana said, trying not to grin. Among other things it wouldn't be very polite considering that the flight had just lost three people. But that was hard to grasp at a certain level, call it denial at which she was very well trained, and grasping being a cox was easy.

  "Now we start the debrief," CM1 Glass said. "Were you insane . . . ?"

  ELEVEN

  "Boo-yah," Price said, sticking his head in Butch's quarters. "Time to go make the man his money, baby!"

  As soon a
s the battle alarms went off, pretty much everything civilian shut down and the welding crew, which had been working on installing a power circuit on one of the horns in the bay, headed for their quarters. The quarters were not only deep in the wall of Troy, they were sealed in case there was an "environmental breach." And although they were tight, that was also where they kept their personal suits.

  "What's up?" Butch said, turning off the video of some crazy assed pilot screaming across the main bay.

  "Salvage, baby!" BFM said. "The Troy just created enough salvage to keep us busy for a year!"

  "Okay!" Butch said, grinning hopelessly. He had no idea why the team lead was so happy.

  Butch had completed his initial probationary period without being transferred, incurring a major incident or killing anyone. As such, he was now an apprentice welder and earning a pretty good buck.

  The problem being, there wasn't much to spend it on the Troy. There were some bars but he had learned that if you got too heavy on the sauce you were going to get grounded. There was even one titty bar but with women in short supply, you sort of got tired of just looking. And the girls weren't exactly great.

  Pretty much what he'd been doing for the last three months was working in the main bay, taking as much OT as he could grab, eating and sleeping. Since the work was hard but not really . . . ​what was it called? It wasn't really aerobic, he was starting to figure out why everybody on the crew had a beer gut.

  He'd actually been sending money home. God knows Mama and Papa could use it.

  He enjoyed the work more than he'd thought he would at first. The main bay was pretty cool. But he didn't know why BFM was so excited.

  "Oh, you poor clueless newbie," BFM said, shaking his head. "Get into your suit and head for the sleds."

  "Suit and sleds?" Butch said.

  "Salvage, dude," Price said. "Going to be FOD all over the place. But the nice part? The really sweet, oh this is so sweet, part? We get a cut of everything we salvage. I was on the salvage job when the last Horvath attack came through the gate. Four ships. Five hundred guys cutting. I made as much in a month as I usually do in two years. And, dude, there are forty ships just waiting to be plundered!"