And there was no way of knowing how deep they went. Fighting through a maze of them would be a tall order.
Arnot nodded, looked at Wilcox. “Our portable loopholes on the Verdun are like that.”
“They must have built this themselves,” Christine added. “The fort didn’t have these before.”
“Will rockets do the trick?” Wilcox looked between Christine and Arnot.
Christine shook her head. “I wouldn’t risk it. Could cave the ceiling in and block the way.” The absolute last thing they could afford was to slow the attack down.
“What about grenades?” Arnot asked.
Christine considered for a second, trying to remember the exact specifications of the fort’s construction. It was hard to think at all in that damn noise.
“I think grenades are fine,” Christine said finally.
Wilcox’s mouth tightened as he seemed to consider the options. “There’s no way but through it. See if you can suppress their MGs and get a grenade or two back there. Arnot, Flores, make it happen. I’ll hold back the other two platoons as reserve.” Wilcox headed back down the corridor, speaking in his headset to relay what was going on to Squires and Perez.
Christine nodded, waved Néri over. “Sergeant, get one of the LMGs up here.”
She turned to Arnot, pointed directly across the corridor to the empty hall beyond. “Lieutenant, if we can put some fire on the loopholes, do you think you can get across to the other side?”
They’d have an easier shot at breaking through these barricades if they could un-ass themselves from this bottleneck and get another angle on the enemy loopholes. If they could knock one out, they’d open a gap in the area covered by those machine guns, and they’d be able to get closer.
“Yes, ma’am.” Arnot turned and walked back down the corridor, peeling the men and women of his platoon off the wall and readying them for action. Christine shifted to let Krouri and Accardo past her with the machine gun. They unfolded the weapon’s bi-pod, knelt down behind the corner of the junction. Christine felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned, saw Néri beside her again, a smoke grenade in his hand. Christine took it.
“Sergeant, get the platoon ready to move. I want Meyer’s squad around that corner as soon as that first machine gun is down. They’ll move in fast and tight against the left wall.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Néri moved back down the corridor to relay Christine’s orders.
“We’re ready!” Arnot appeared next to Néri.
Christine pulled the grenade’s pin, leaned out over Krouri and Accardo, tossed it around the corner, then tucked herself back into cover. A small flash. A bang, lost amidst the gunfire. The noise lessened, and smoke stung Christine’s nose.
She slapped Accardo’s helmet, and he pivoted the barrel of his machine gun around the corner. He opened fire, spraying staccato bursts toward the loopholes.
“Lieutenant, go!” Christine made sure that Arnot’s eyes met hers and that he understood the order before pressing next to Krouri and training her carbine around the corner. She could only barely make out the barricades through the thick, white smoke. She guessed where the loopholes were, and sprayed fire toward them, first the left one, then the right one.
The enemy fire had all but stopped now, and Christine could see the shapes of Arnot and his platoon moving past her and across the corridor out of her peripheral vision.
The enemy machine guns opened up again, no doubt deciding that the stream of marines across the hall in front of them was reason enough to brave Accardo’s bullets. Christine heard a scream, glanced over to see a couple of the marines fall over. Another stopped to try to drag them across, and fell as well, pressing a hand to his stomach. He tried to crawl, jerked again as a round hit him, and lay still. Christine bit her lip and, seeing Accardo spray fire toward the right-hand loophole, took careful aim at the muzzle flash of the enemy machine gun on the left. She steadied her weapon against the concrete, fired. The flash disappeared, then, a few, long seconds later, started up again. Maybe she’d hit and some other fucker had picked up the MG. Maybe she’d made the guy duck for a second. Either way, the rest of the marines were across.
She pulled back into cover and looked over at Arnot, who was barking orders to his marines. Christine caught his eye. He gestured with a fist, holding it like a grenade, and pulling off an imaginary pin. Christine nodded and knelt down next to her machine gunners, careful to not interfere with Krouri as she supported a belt of ammunition from her olive-green ammo can and into the side of Accardo’s weapon.
“Accardo!” Christine slapped his helmet again to get his attention. “Duck back in here when you see the grenades fly!”
Accardo nodded, sending another burst of fire into the barricades.
She looked over toward Arnot’s platoon in time to see a grenade fly from the hands of two marines and around the corner. Accardo and Krouri pulled quickly back, and Christine stepped backward to make room for them.
The grenades detonated in quick succession, and bits of shrapnel flew through the air and peppered the bullet-scarred wall. The enemy machine gun fire resumed.
“Damn it!” She looked over at Arnot, who made a fist, then bounced it off his other hand, which was held flat. She understood. The grenades had missed and rebounded off the barrier, exploding uselessly in front of it. There was nothing to it but to try again.
Accardo moved to get his machine gun back in position, then suddenly hunched backward again. Had he been hit? No, he was looking around at her, trying to say something that got lost in the noise.
Christine put a hand on his shoulder, but something caught her eye. A grenade bounced and rolled to a stop a few feet from her. She started toward it, but Néri was already there, using the stock of his submachine gun like golf club and sending it skittering back at the barricades.
Christine pulled Néri back into cover as the grenade exploded around the corner.
“Come on,” Christine shouted to Accardo and Krouri. “Let’s take these guys out!”
She was tired of these damn barricades.
Accardo got back into position, opened fire. Christine trained her carbine around the corner and fired a few shots at the loopholes just in time for a few grenades to come sailing toward the barricades from Arnot’s position. She saw the grenades disappear into the gap between the first barricade and the second, heard muffled shouts. She ducked back into cover, tugging Accardo along with her.
The grenades detonated behind the barricade, a muffled blast, and Christine peered around the corner. A few of the bricks from the first barricade had been blasted out of place, and its loophole was dark. To the right and behind it, the other barricade was silent, though it was impossible to say whether the crew behind it was dead or simply stunned. Either way, they had to move fast.
She looked across the corridor, caught Arnot’s eyes again. She slapped the top of her helmet repeatedly with her opened palm.
Give us suppressing fire.
Arnot nodded, and turned around to yell orders at the other marines. A few seconds later, Arnot and his troops were peppering the barricade with fire from their rifles and moving a light machine gun into position.
Christine looked for Sergeant Meyer, found him, and motioned him to move his squad forward. She dropped her carbine to low ready as they filed past — Henrikson, Clos, Harris, Miller, Meyer, Simmons, Young, Lazaar, Sassano, and Francis — keeping close to the wall and out of the arc of the remaining enemy machine gun, which had sputtered back to life.
Christine bit her lip. She hated not being at the front of the attack, not having direct control over what would happen to her troops next. The squad had come to a halt in front of the destroyed loophole. They couldn’t move around the end of the wall because they’d be running in front of the other, intact machine gun. Christine watched as Henrikson pulled a pair of wire clippers off of his belt and started cutting away at the netting strung above the first wall. Miller handed Henrikson a grenade, then reached pas
t Henrikson and stuck the tip of his bayonet through the hole in the netting, holding it open. Henrikson armed the grenade and tossed it through the hole, no doubt trying to get it around the second wall.
BANG.
The enemy machine gun choked and ceased firing again, and Sergeant Meyer’s squad vanished one by one around the corner and through the gap between the barricades. Sporadic gunshots. A shout. A machine gun chattering.
Dammit! What was going on?
A second later, Harris came around the corner, dragging Clos’ limp body. He made it to the junction and laid Clos down next to the three marines who had fallen minutes before. Clos was completely still, and Christine couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive. Either way, she was out of the fight. Christine’s chest tightened, and she dashed forward to stand next to Harris, keeping an eye on the silent loopholes. It was strange to stand in the middle of the hallway that had been so filled with enemy fire only moments ago.
“Private? Private! What’s going on?”
Harris met her gaze, and Christine’s stomach fell as she recognized the resignation on the young man’s face.
“More barricades on the other side, spaced out between the entrances to the barracks rooms. We’re setting up positions to suppress the next loopholes.”
Christine felt the press of her ring against the stock of her carbine. These bastards were going to make them pay for every inch of ground they took. How long would it take them to get through this? Could they even do it? She chased away her mounting dread, straightened up, raised her chin.
“Get into those barracks. Use them as cover to leap frog forward and get good firing positions on the barricades. We’re coming in behind you.” Christine looked back at Néri. “Sergeant, get Wilcox up here. Arnot!” Christine turned to face the marine lieutenant. “We’re pushing forward.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Where the hell is the Supervisor?” Tom paced around the command center, his gaze scanning the personnel manning the various stations and consoles. He hadn’t seen the man for at least five minutes, and now was not a good time to vanish. Now was the time to be a leader and model calm for their people.
“They’ve broken through the first set of barricades on this level! They’re pushing down the main corridor!” The breathless runner wiped sweat off his head, his eyes as big as saucers against his dark face.
Tom let the news sink in. The Alliance soldiers were closing in. He was running out of time. The battle was all but lost. He looked around the room again, taking stock of everyone there.
“You, you, and you.” Tom pointed at Eugene and two others working to fix the radio. Grab rifles and get to the barricades.”
If they didn’t repel this attack, there’d be no need for communications.
Tom turned on his heel and walked to the silo control station. “Fire again. Do not let up on them.”
“They’re among the fleet,” Jordon glanced back at Tom, shaking his head. “Our last shot hit some of our own ships. I can’t get a clear lock, and we can’t risk—”
“Keep firing!” Tom spun Jordan around in his seat. “Do you know what will happen if that ship breaks through? We’ve killed Alliance soldiers. Do you know the penalty for treason? Do you want to die? Rot in prison somewhere?” Tom’s frayed nerves were exploding.
There was no way out. They were backed into a corner, waiting for death from above or from the rifles of the Alliance soldiers tightening the noose around them. And why was Smith missing?
Jordan stammered. “N-No, but—”
“Fire!” Tom spun Jordan back around. “And don’t stop until that ship is destroyed. Our fleet will make way as best they can.”
Jordan shook as he punched the controls, activating the launch sequence for another missile.
Kim fought back a wave of nausea as she was bucked sideways against her safety harness, the nylon strap biting into her through her uniform jacket. The bridge blacked out for a second as the overhead lights dimmed and flickered. The smell of burnt plastic and hot metal stung her nostrils.
“Turret six has lost electrical power. They are attempting to make repairs.” Fowler shouted over the muffled booms of enemy ordnance exploding around the ship. “We’re losing ordnance deflector coverage on our port side. We managed to block most of the warheads with the enemy ship to starboard.”
“Mr. Stetler, keep us moving! Holsey, have fire control concentrate on the closest ships. Give us some breathing room in here, and screen our port side.”
Kim scanned the holoports around the room, her own screen having flickered out minutes ago, some part of its wiring cut somewhere. Two of the ports were out, but Kim could see the flaming hulk of another enemy warship listing to starboard, between the Verdun and the planet. At least these missiles were doing more damage to the enemy fleet than they were to their intended target. That made two enemy ships killed by friendly fire and one by the Verdun herself since they’d plunged into the hostile fleet.
Eight down, twelve to go.
Whether or not they’d get that twelve was anyone’s guess.
The flashes from enemy shells and rockets detonating in the space around the Verdun threw the bridge into brief moments of extreme brightness, as if they were facing a crowd full of sparkling cameras. Many of the shells were being deflected, while the fighters were screening quite a few of the rockets. But at this close range, more than enough were getting through. The Verdun was slowly being chewed to a pulp.
The deck lurched again, and something hot seared the back of Kim’s neck. She turned, saw the action table erupt into sparks and flames.
“Just fixed the damn thing,” Holsey shouted.
“Geonor’s going to be pissed,” Kim shouted back, then looked down toward the radio console. “Baudouin, get fire crews up here.”
Baudouin looked over, shook her head. “Damage control reports that they’re all out, ma’am.”
“We’ll handle it ourselves, then.” Kim unbuckled her harness and got to her feet, just as the ship lurched again and a dull boom filled the air.
“They got a direct hit. Secondary turret eight is on fire. The crew is evacuating, fire control teams attempting to suppress.” Fowler’s voice held a note of panic.
Kim held back her own fear and worked her way around the bridge to a fire extinguisher, leaving the rest of the bridge crew to concentrate on their tasks. Pulling it from the wall, she walked over to stand next to Holsey and unleashed a stream of white flame retardant onto the burning table. The flames hissed and went out, sending up billowing clouds of smoke that stung Kim’s eyes.
“I suppose this is when you tell me that there’s no way we can survive this. That I’ve doomed us all.” Kim said to Holsey as she gave the action table another spray down for good measure.
“No, ma’am.”
Kim turned to meet Holsey’s gaze. What was the emotion she saw there? Anger? Regret?
Something worse, something she’d never expected from a battle-axe like Holsey.
She saw resignation.
“We both knew there was only one way through this, and one likely outcome. I can take that.” Holsey held out her hand.
“Captain, another missile incoming from the fort.”
“Thanks, Commander.” Kim handed Holsey the extinguisher and strode to her chair. She snapped the harness shut, wincing as the strap touched skin made tender from being jerked against it.
Kim looked around the holoports, cleared her throat. “Mr. Stetler, I see three sponges twelve degrees to starboard. See if you can keep them between us and that next missile.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
“Enemy vessel destroyed,” Isabelle announced. Kim looked around, saw an enemy ship to port breaking into pieces as the Verdun’s shells ripped through it.
This fight was not lost. Not yet.
But then she lost sight of her dying enemy as the deck jerked again and the ports flickered on and off.
“Another hit,” Fowler shouted.
“All hands, brace for impact,” Isabelle said.
The missile was separating, its nose unleashing its multitude of warheads. Then Kim lost sight of it as an enemy ship passed in front of it.
Kim blinked, was thrown to one side, then the other. The bridge lit up as the enemy vessel split open. The other two ships were turning to face the Verdun, their gun turrets rotating around to fire.
“Nice flying, Stetler!” Urquhart called out, her voice small against the continued noise of explosions.
“If the enemy could pilot worth a damn, we’d be lost,” Kim agreed.
Stetler didn’t say anything, but wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He was keeping their opponents confused, disorganized, turning in all the wrong ways.
“We’ve got another one incoming,” Fowler called.
Kim’s insides tensed. “Let’s do this again. Keep with these other two ships. Don’t let them run—”
Kim’s sentence was cut off as the Verdun shook again, and the bridge flickered in and out of darkness once more.
The enemy force was charging again, shouting, firing wildly, stumbling over the mounting piles of their comrades’ bodies. Gordon shook his head, raised his rifle again to pick out another target in the darkness. He found one, dropped him with a center-mass shot.
Won’t they give up already?
He’d hoped that, faced with high losses and their own lack of training, these revolutionaries would surrender quickly. Instead, they’d taken cover wherever they could in the valley — behind rocks, small rises in the ground, even the occasional downed tree — and settled in for a fight. These poor sons-of-bitches were more motivated than any troops Gordon had ever seen before. A hungry belly and a chest full of desperate anger had been enough to sustain them through repeated attempts to rush the Alliance trenches at the head of the valley — and through the horrific casualties they suffered each time.
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