The corridor was less than twenty metres long, yet Duggan found each stride along it became progressively harder. In a way, he was thankful he’d got this far before the enormity of his intentions became such a burden. At the second door, Duggan took a deep breath when he reached for the access panel. He shook his head clear and opened the door.
The storage room for Benediction lay beyond. It was a large space, several thousand metres below the surface. The walls were smooth alloy and there were several overlapping gravity winches on the ceiling, set around the central gravity lift. A huge automated crane stood idle to one side, its work complete.
“Benediction,” whispered Paz, following Duggan inside. McKinney hesitated and then came after, his eyes moving to take in every detail.
The bomb was a dull grey cuboid with rounded corners and edges. It was sixty metres at its longest, with a height and width of forty metres. For various technical and strategic reasons, it had been brought here in pieces for final assembly by the crane and winches above. The seams where the pieces joined were clearly visible and they formed a cross on the facing side.
“Come,” said Duggan.
He strode over the smooth floor, his footsteps producing no echo at all. It was far colder than he expected and he was glad for the insulation of his spacesuit. As he came closer to the bomb, he smelled the sharp tang of its metal shell and heard the faintest of humming noises from deep within the casing.
The activation panel was exactly where it was meant to be – at head height near to one corner. The name plate was fixed next to it and he read the details.
No. 000041. Benediction.
There were other words stamped beneath
Let me be the greatest and the last.
“Amen to that,” said Duggan.
“This will kill…everyone?” asked McKinney, his voice hushed.
“After the detonation, there’ll be nothing left of New Earth, or anything within approximately six million klicks.”
“The price is high, sir.”
“There’s no guarantee we’ll have to pay it.”
“What are you going to do?”
McKinney deserved answers, since he was letting someone else decide his fate.
“I’ll set the timer for six hours. By that point, atmospheric oxygen levels will be at approximately 6% and everyone on New Earth who isn’t in a bunker will be dead.”
“Why not twenty-four hours, sir?”
“I don’t want to risk the enemy leaving before detonation. Ix-Gorghal is the prize and we can’t let it slip through our fingers.”
“I hope to hell we can pull something off so we don’t have to be responsible for this.”
“You won’t be responsible, Lieutenant. This is on my shoulders alone.”
“I am responsible now, sir. You made me responsible the moment you invited me into this room.”
“How come?”
“If I wanted, I could shoot you dead, sir, and then there’d be no one to start the timer. The fact that I choose not to kill you makes me complicit.”
“We’re all a part of it,” said Paz.
“You don’t need to be.”
“It’s too much ask of you alone, sir.”
McKinney looked tired. “Do it, sir. Set the timer away so we can be out of here and on to a place where everything makes sense. Even if that sense comes in the form of a hundred thousand alien soldiers.”
Without another word, Duggan activated the timer on the bomb. It wasn’t an involved process – he entered a series of access codes and then tapped in the number of minutes using a pad of mechanical switches.
“Done,” he said.
000:000:05:59:50
“We’d better set a corresponding timer in the visor computers as well,” said Paz. “I’d hate to be late back.”
“Couldn’t you have done this from the Ulterior-2?” asked McKinney, scratching his head as the question came to him.
“Well spotted, Lieutenant. Yes, I could have used the Hadron’s comms system to accomplish the same thing.”
“Why didn’t you, sir? We could be onboard the ship already.”
“Or we could be dead on the landing strip, or the Ulterior-2 destroyed from orbit. Coming direct to the facility gave us the greatest chance of success.”
McKinney would have likely said more had Duggan been of a lower rank. As it was, he kept his mouth shut and shrugged his acceptance.
With the bomb activated, Duggan led the others from the room. In the two minutes it took to return to the other soldiers, he had time to reflect upon his feelings. Strangely, he felt better now the die was cast. He’d made the decision for good or ill and it forced him into a position where he had to do his utmost to stave off a seemingly unavoidable outcome.
I always did fight better with my back to the wall.
The other four men were right where they were meant to be. They milled about nervously and made wisecracks to disguise their anxiety. Their curiosity was plain, though not one of them dared ask a question and there was no mistaking the relief when Duggan told them to get into the airlift.
The return journey to the tank was completed with a greater urgency than the way in. Five minutes later, the squad emerged through the outer wall of Facility LT3, to find the tank exactly where they’d left it. Moments later, they were inside and heading for their seats.
Chapter Eighteen
Fleet Admiral Duggan leaned against the cockpit wall inside the damaged Colossus tank, watching the very brief preparations to depart. Clifton left for the passenger bay, while McKinney swapped with Li and got into the driver’s seat.
“Show me the quickest course to the Ulterior-2,” said McKinney. “Captain Blake said he’d draw the enemy battleship away for as long as he could, but for some reason I think our time is running out. It’s been over thirty minutes now.”
“Closer to forty,” said Bannerman.
“No,” said Duggan.
“What’s that, sir?”
“We’ve got our insurance policy in place and now we’re in this to win, Lieutenant – no half measures. Set a course for the Obsidiar Storage Facility - the outer gate.”
“It’s swarming with Vraxar, sir.”
“And it’s the place we keep the ammunition for the Earth’s Fury main gun.”
The two men locked eyes and McKinney grinned broadly. “Yes, sir!”
Lieutenant Paz jabbed Duggan in his bruised ribs. He looked at her and she raised an eyebrow.
“There’s no going back now, Lieutenant.”
Sergeant Li was the first to question the assumed method. “How are we going to get in?”
“We aren’t,” said Duggan.
“Then…?”
“Too many questions, Sergeant. We could be halfway there by now.”
McKinney didn’t wait for a reconfirmation of the order. The moment Bannerman provided details of an efficient route, he got the tank moving.
“We’re going to keep amongst these buildings here, sir. So it’s back into the built-up area and then cut right towards the OSF,” said Bannerman when he saw Duggan’s interest in how they were getting to the facility. “Even if the buildings don’t prevent the battleship seeing us, they should provide some protective cover.”
“We might get lucky, Corporal. Assuming the enemy ship returns, their comms team are more likely to be concentrating on their own troops. It gives us a chance. Once we arrive at the OSF, we’ll be close to the Vraxar activity and that’s when we need to worry.”
Li was irrepressible, even when confronted by a Fleet Admiral. “So how are we intending to pick up this ammunition, then? I assume it’s too heavy to carry on our shoulders.”
Duggan didn’t approve of secrecy just for the sake of it. “From what Lieutenant McKinney has told me, the Vraxar have breached the east wall, so there may be little in the way of resistance at the main gates. There’s a hard link from there to the central facility. I can order the crawler carrying the ammunition to exit the
OSF.”
“After that, we escort the crawler to its destination?” said Roldan with a bemused look on his face. “Those things are slow.”
“Not if you hitch them to the back of a tank,” said McKinney, catching on.
Duggan nodded. “Exactly. There’s a gravity winch on the back of every tank. The Colossus tanks could likely tow a destroyer if they needed to.”
“I thought I was meant to be the crazy one,” said Li.
Roldan couldn’t resist. “You’re thinking of Clifton. You’re the dumb one.”
“Did you hear that, sir?” asked Li. “That was a breach of military discipline right there.”
Duggan remembered the days and laughed. “Put it in your report, Sergeant. I’ll read it after our victory.”
“I’m only a sergeant. I don’t write reports.”
The tank lumbered on, entering a wide main street which joined one side of the Tucson base to the other. This route to the OSF was intended to avoid known areas of Vraxar activity and was slightly longer than going direct. Duggan watched the sensor feeds and felt his simmering anger bubbling away at the sight of the devastation. Entire blocks had been hit by missiles, without apparent need. There again, the Vraxar weren’t anything like humans and they acted on their own obscure motivations.
“I don’t suppose there are any more of these Colossus tanks on the base, sir?” asked McKinney. He knew the answer already, but maybe they kept a few locked up somewhere classified.
“I’m afraid this is the only one, Lieutenant. We’ve got three undergoing assembly in one of the workshops and there are a dozen Gunthers parked in various strategic places around the base.”
“Is it worth trying to find one?”
“I’d feel safer in this,” said Duggan. “Even beat up as much as it is.”
McKinney did his best to keep the tank close to its maximum speed. It was a difficult task, since the vehicle had developed a tendency to pull strongly to the side after the missile strike. As a consequence, he needed to keep the control joysticks slightly to the side in order to compensate. It made steering hard and the rear of the tank kept catching on solid objects.
“Sorry about the damage, sir,” he said, watching a previously-intact two-storey building collapse on the rear sensor.
“We’ll blame it on the Vraxar when the Confederation Council enquire about the extent of the repair costs, eh?” said Duggan.
“That works for me.”
“Less than a thousand metres to the OSF perimeter gate,” said Bannerman. “One more left-right and it’ll be dead ahead.”
McKinney managed the left turn, by drifting the tank sideways and then accelerating through the corner. The right-hand turn was straight after and he was slightly late bringing the tank’s nose around. It crunched through a series of walls, overturned a truck and knocked three parked cars into a wall.
“Damn those Vraxar,” said Sergeant Li.
Bannerman chuckled. “Yes, damn them.”
“Business now,” said McKinney. He called loudly into the internal comms. “Rear bay personnel, get into position on the flank exit hatch.”
The banter stopped and the soldiers prepared themselves for whatever might lie ahead. The early indications were promising – the outer gate was intact and there was only moderate damage to the walls around it. The biggest sign something was amiss was the smoke coming from within the compound.
“They took out the gate guns,” said McKinney. “And left the gates.”
“We’re not planning to be here long,” said Roldan.
“Just as well.”
The tank emerged from the protective cover of the buildings and entered the open area around the Obsidiar Storage Facility.
“Bring me as close as you can to the gatehouse,” said Duggan, pointing his finger at a small stone-built structure set a short distance from the wall.
“That dropship is still there,” said Bannerman. “I wonder if they managed to empty it yet.”
“We’ve got Vraxar to the left,” said Roldan. “One artillery gun and crew, looking the other way.”
“On it,” said Li.
Li had a knack. It took him about two seconds to target the main gun and fire, scoring a direct hit. One moment, the artillery gun was in place, the next it vanished as though it had never existed.
“Rear bay personnel, prepare to exit the tank,” said McKinney on the internal comms. “Protect the Admiral.” He brought the tank around and placed it between the gatehouse and the likely direction of a Vraxar attack. “Go, go, go!” he shouted.
Duggan grabbed his gun, ducked through the cockpit door and hurried along the passage leading to the exit hatch air lock. He could see light coming from outside, partially obscured by the group of men and women clambering through. He went after them, impatiently resisting the urge to push the soldier in front.
His turn came and he jumped free of the tank. There were eight soldiers out here with him, including McGraw and Demarco from Lieutenant Richards’ squad. His eyes swept the area – the tank was to his left, with its nose aimed at the OSF main gate. To his right was the single-storey gatehouse, an ugly lump of concrete which took each of the Space Corps’ worst architectural design ideas and magnified them tenfold. There was a single metal door and the kind of small, reinforced windows they fitted to maximum security prisons.
A series of booms rolled upwards and outwards from the central compound area and Duggan ran as quickly as he could to the gatehouse. The door responded to his palm print and slid open. He stepped aside and let Garcia and Vega check out the interior.
“Clear!”
Duggan entered, to find the place deserted. A table with cups was the only sign of prior occupation. On normal days there would have been ten guards inside. Now, it was empty and Duggan recalled hearing Lieutenant McKinney say how he’d brought everyone within the compound walls.
“What is this crap?” asked Garcia, nudging a tray of something no longer edible with the butt of his rifle.
Duggan ignored him and approached the gatehouse console. It was online, operational and responded sluggishly to his access codes.
“Let’s see,” he said to himself.
Garcia and Vega were suddenly agitated. “Someone’s shooting outside,” said Vega.
“Sir?”
“I heard you.”
Duggan located the approval screen and authorised the release of Obsidiar from the storage facility. Immediately, the comms speaker on the console crackled into life and he could hear a number of panicked voices at the other end.
“This is OSF Technician Amy Horvath, who’s there?” came a voice.
“Fleet Admiral John Duggan. I’ve ordered the Obsidiar crawler to the surface.”
“We’re being overrun here, sir! I don’t know how many are left alive, but we’ve been pushed right back. Are you able to send reinforcements? We don’t have long!”
There were times when all you could do was accept a lost cause, no matter how painful it might be. It never got easier.
“There will be no reinforcements, Technician Horvath. We have none to spare.”
“You can’t leave us here, sir! They’re going to kill us!”
There was nothing he could say and he didn’t try. He closed the channel, turning sorrow into fury, directing his anger towards the Vraxar instead of at his own helplessness.
“How long?” asked Garcia from the window. “It’s getting busy outside.”
Duggan played through the crawler’s route in his mind – up the lift, into the central warehouse. From there, through the two main doors, over the compound, then two more doors until it was finally out of the OSF.
“Eight minutes, give or take.”
Garcia swore. “It’s going to be tight, sir. Can we take cover in the tank?”
Ideally, the squad would remain in the tank while the crawler made its journey. Unfortunately, the highly-secure nature of the OSF meant that each outbound Obsidiar shipment was carefully managed. Th
e crawler would stop at each gate and Duggan would be required to open them, one-by-one.
“Negative. I need to stay here, otherwise everything stops.”
“I thought you might say something like that.”
Duggan joined Garcia at the window. The squad were no longer on the ground and had climbed onto the tank’s hull, from where they were able to fire into whatever enemy forces approached. Duggan recognized Dexter Webb only because of the plasma tube on his shoulder. The soldier launched a rocket from his place on the rear section of the vehicle and then dropped prone to avoid return fire.
Try as he might, Duggan couldn’t get a clear view beyond the tank in order to judge what was arrayed against them. The tank’s main turret rotated and the gun thumped, the recoil sending the tank a few feet towards the gatehouse.
Vega leaned outside and shouted. “Yo, Whitlock! How many are there?”
The response drifted in faintly through the door. “Shitloads and they’ve brought their extended families.”
Vega turned towards Duggan and lifted his visor, as though he felt it a necessary courtesy. “Trooper Whitlock advises me there are a considerable number of opponents.”
“I believe I heard the word shitloads.”
“That’s the technical term, sir.”
“We’re going to be overrun.”
“There is a strong likelihood of that, sir.”
“We don’t have eight minutes,” added Garcia.
“In that case, we’d better speed things up.”
“How?”
Vega was closest to the door and therefore the chosen candidate for what Duggan intended.
“Go to Lieutenant McKinney. I would like him to turn the main armament onto the facility doors. After that, come back here.”
Vega lowered his visor and went. Through the side window, Duggan saw him cover ten rapid steps to the tank and throw himself bodily into the access hatch. Across the room, the gatehouse console beeped, advising him that the crawler had reached the top of the gravity lift. Duggan sent his approval for it to proceed towards the inner door. This part of the crawler’s journey was short and the console beeped again a few seconds later.
Earth's Fury (Obsidiar Fleet Book 4) Page 18