A swirling dogfight ensued and after a several minutes a second tiny Bug scout blew up. One of our Corvettes was venting gases and moving at half its normal speed, limping away from the conflict.
The Bug Marauder acted like a spider whose prey was finally succumbing to its venom, pressing in on the damaged Corvette. Incredibly, while directing over half its fire at the crippled Corvette, it still continued to spread the rest of its fire over the other Corvette and single remaining Cutter.
The damaged Corvette twisted and turned this way and that, working to spread the damage it was taking over the entire ship instead of just one face. Its squadron mates came in close and poured everything they had into the Marauder.
Then something exploded in a display of bluish fluid at the back-end of the single remaining Bug ship, and while it kept firing furiously, it appeared to lose all navigational control and was tumbling along its last course.
At this bit of good luck, the crippled Corvette slowly pulled away, half its weapons no longer functional and trailing a fan of burning gases out of several large gashes in its hull. Slowly, the atmosphere leaks trickled to a halt and the fires died when there was no longer anything to feed it.
The less damaged Cutter and Corvette continued to pour fire into the Marauder until it stopped firing back. Once it was neutralized, the patrol ships moved to escort their damaged sister away from the scene of battle.
The Lucky Clover slowly crept closer to the Harvester. It was going to be tight, but it looked like we’d reach the single remaining Bug ship before it found its way to Tracto VI and the Constructor orbiting the planet.
Grabbing the armrest that had been somewhat miraculously repaired while I was off the bridge, I smiled to myself, thinking I should show a little temper more often. Then I reigned myself in and clutched the armrest, silently urging my aged Battleship to greater speed.
Intellectually, I knew the ship wasn’t going to move any faster just because I was trying to pull her along, but in my own mind it helped. I was able to convince myself of the illusion that our little icon was moving across the main screen faster that we had been before.
At long last, we got within range of the Harvester. Like its smaller brethren, as soon as we got on its screen, the little brute turned to face us.
Unlike the Imperials who’d also been in a smaller ship than ours, the Bugs seemed to have no appreciation for our larger size and superior weight of firepower, and the Harvester waded into point blank range.
A storm of fire lashed out between our two ships. It almost looked like one continuous stream of laser fire lancing between us.
“Shields are down to 50% on the forward facing,” said the shield operator from Third shift.
“Don’t talk to me! Shift power from the rear array to compensate,” instructed the First Officer.
The Tactical Officer was too busy giving orders into his microphone to pay much attention to anything other than fighting the ship.
As I watched, a large number of our hits started getting through, first our more powerful turbo-laser batteries and then even our heavy laser placements started slamming past the Bug shields and landing on the hull.
Small gasps of atmosphere, and larger ejections of fluid started venting from the Bugs, who heedlessly continued to bore in.
I noticed as an aside that the Harvester seemed to do a better job of focusing its fire on us. There were far fewer random shots fired out into the dark, compared to their scout ships.
Then the bane of our Battleship struck, and it struck hard. Suddenly our fate of fire cut in half.
“What’s going on? Why aren’t we firing full out,” demanded the Tremblay.
“The power banks have been depleted and the fusion generators just can’t keep up with a full load from gunnery and our shields,” said the warrant officer in charge of damage control.
I clenched my fist so tightly that I was certain I cut my palm with my fingernails. Our lack of power generation had once again come back to bite us in the rear.
We were still pounding hits through their shields and into the hull, but it wasn’t the devastating barrage it should have been.
The First Officer scowled. “Do the best you can,” he said shortly.
Then Tremblay and I shared a look, acknowledging the need to improve our fusion plants as soon as possible.
The Helm kept rotating the ship on signal from Tactical, to give our gun mounts time to cool down.
Then the damage control team started to get excited, which was never a good sign. “I’ve got readings indicating a pressure leak on deck three,” said the warrant officer at damage control.
“There’s no more power do divert, shields are starting to spot,” the Shield Operator said tightly.
We were almost twice the size of this Bug ship. I’d hoped to get through this without too much in the way of damage. If only our power generation could keep up with our ability to throw out the damage!
I held on tight to the armrest. “Do the best you can,” I said to the shield operator, trying desperately to keep the actual desperation out of my voice. It's hard to tell if I succeeded in any meaningful fashion, but he gave a grateful nod and stayed focused on his console.
Then there was a massive explosion on the Bug Harvester. A smaller series of explosions cause huge amounts of gas and fluid to start leaking from our enemy.
“Oh yeah!” yelled the Tactical Officer, pumping his fist in the air.
The rest of the Bridge crew gave a cheer.
We watched triumphantly as the Bug Harvester lost power to its cold space engines and listed to the side.
“Pour it on and don’t mind the barrels, boys,” the Tactical Officer yelled triumphantly into the microphone connecting him to the gunnery deck.
A renewed barrage of fire poured out of the Lucky Clover. For a few seconds, it looked like it was all going to be absorbed by the big Bug ship.
Then the Harvester slowly split in two. Watching it break up on the main screen and seeing all the fluids and other substances pouring out into cold space, I was reminded once again that these Bug ships were some kind of seemingly impossible bio-mechanical creation. Pretty good for a race of non-sentients, I thought dryly.
It more resembled a creature that had been broken apart, exposing its guts and tissues than it did a proper spaceship made of metal, alloys and composites. I had to imagine that even the Imperial ships, reputedly grown from crystal substances, looked nothing like this Harvester did when it was destroyed.
All around me, Third Shift erupted into a sustained bout of cheering. Despite myself, I couldn’t help a grin. The Lucky Clover had just handled a threat that had knocked aside the entire Light Squadron, and she’d done so with nothing more than a few scratches on her hull to show for it.
I still mourned for the lost shuttles and for anyone killed on the ships of the Light Squadron, but the Light Squadron had signed up for the job knowing the risks, and if the Belters hadn’t been so blasted obstinate, staying to save just that last little bit of mining equipment, maybe they’d be alive as well.
Don't get me wrong, I knew full well that I was still responsible for them being in harm’s way in the first place. But in light of our current effort and success, much of my guilt abated.
I was so busy patting myself on the back for our success that I was more surprised than I should have been when the sensor operator spoke.
“I’m picking up a large number of anomalous sensor readings. It's hard to tell what they are because of the lack of metallic signatures, but they are definitely getting closer to the Clover,” reported the sensor operator sounding concerned.
“What are they,” demanded the Lieutenant Tremblay.
“They don’t match anything in our standard database. I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think they’re missiles,” said the sensor operator.
“I’m not filled with confidence,” said the First Officer.
“Evasive action, Helmsman,” I instructed.
“Something is hitting our shields,” said the shield operator, either unable or unwilling to hide the concern in his voice.
“I’m reading small low level explosions. Nothing big enough to damage our hull, but with our weakened shields something could get through,” reported the Tactical Officer.
“Can you target them with our broadside,” asked Tremblay, sounding as tense as I felt.
“Sensors aren’t getting good readings. I’ll instruct the gunners to go to manual control and try to blast whatever it is to pieces,” the Tactical Officer said, leaning over his microphone.
“I’m reading a number of small objects penetrating our shields and impacting with our hull,” confirmed another sensor operator.
“I’m not hearing any damage reports, people,” snapped Tremblay, striding over to the sensors section. “Are we dealing with some kind of limpet mines or what?”
There was a pregnant silence as the suddenly nervous bridge crew hunched over their consoles.
“Talk to me,” I barked, but for several tense moments no one had anything.
Then the Tactical Officer obviously heard something disturbing. “What!” he exclaimed pounding his console, “Tell them to blast the critters out of the sky before anymore of them can land.”
The First Officer, I, and dare I say nearly every head on the Flag Bridge snapped around at this.
The Tactical Officer turned to look at me and then the First Officer. “Gunners are reporting that the objects landing on the outside of our hull are some kind of Bug marines,” he said, sounding utterly shocked.
Tremblay turned pale. “Impossible,” he breathed.
“What is it, Mr. Tremblay,” I demanded. I was working hard to keep my tone even, although by now my nerves were completely gone, and I could hardly hear my own voice over the blood pounding in my ears.
Lieutenant Tremblay was visibly shaken, but he managed to gather his wits after only a few moments. “There have been reports of Bug marines, but they aren’t a standard adaptation. Bug marines are only known to appear on the larger Bug ships after they’ve had extensive contact with Marine Jacks and several units have survived to make it back to the mother ship. I’ve never heard of a newly contacted Armada just spontaneously developing this class of warriors in isolation,” said the First Officer, managing to regain some of his composure by the time he finished the explanation.
“Then maybe we aren’t the first humans they’ve encountered, which might also explain why every report I read indicated that we shouldn't see the first Harvester class vessel for another two months minimum,” I said grimly.
“I’d like to think that even pirates would try to do something about a Bug infestation, and they‘re the only people I can think of that wouldn’t immediately report an encounter,” Tremblay said doubtfully. He had a point. I'm not quite sure why, but now that we knew for certain that we had genocidal super Marine Bugs crawling out on the hull, I wasn't quite as terrified as I had been a few minutes before. I guess there's something to be said for certainty, even if it's certainly horrifying.
“Maybe someone got unlucky and the Bugs destroyed them before they had the chance to report to anyone,” I offered, since I couldn't come up with anything else.
Tremblay shook his head. “In every other case, multiple encounters were needed. This just doesn’t make any sense,” said the former Intelligence Officer, who made his way to an empty workstation.
“A mystery,” I agreed. I turned to face the communications section. “Get the Lancer Colonel on the horn and tell him to suit up. I’ll be joining them on the hull. It's time we went and scraped off a few ticks before they get good and burrowed in,” I said boisterously.
“There’s no need to risk yourself in such a foolish endeavor. Let the Lancers do their job and stay on the bridge where you belong, Sir,” said Tremblay.
Something inside me rebelled at this advice, sage though it might be. In my own mind, I was responsible for the Bugs being in this system. There was no way I could put away the guilt I felt over all the people lost today unless I did everything I could to get rid of every single Bug in this little expedition we’d encountered.
“Your sudden concern for my well-being is touching. I just wonder where it was the last several times I’ve gone out in a battle suit,” I said with a touch of venom, and jumped out of my command chair.
Tremblay gaped and turned red as I strode out of the Flag Bridge.
Stopping in my wreck of a former living space, I suited up in the same old clunker of a battle suit I’d last used on the Imperial Strike Cruiser. I’d been meaning to get it refurbished, but unfortunately hadn't found the time to send it down to Armory for repairs. It would just have to do.
Moving at the fastest pace I could manage without the risk of running over someone in the corridors, I made for the turbo-lift. My servos whined an angry accompaniment to the metal on metal sound of my feet touching the duralloy decking.
The Lancers beat me to the nearest airlock, but only just. I stepped out of the lift just in time to see the first door of the airlock cycle open. They appeared so eager to get to grips with the Bugs that it just didn’t feel right to try pulling rank for the front of the line. Plus, from the concerned looks they were giving me, a few of the cooler heads might have tried to stop me, for my own good of course.
So like a good little schoolboy, I stood in line and waited my turn to get outside and play. I told myself that I was waiting patiently because I didn’t want to steal their fun, but my suddenly boneless knees argued that perhaps it was simply cowardice.
Whatever it was, I waited my turn and entered the airlock with the last group going out to the hull from here. Once out on the hull, there was no time for theatrics or anything other than a brief surge of fear.
A huge Bug that looked like nothing so much as a giant beetle with too many legs and crystalline tipped cutting jaws was my first sight. The giant Bug was surrounded by a swirling swarm of Lancers and smaller Bugs that resembled an improved version of the six foot 'soldiers' I’d last encountered on the Bug ship. These were at least eight feet tall, and came equipped with crystal-lined pinchers and two extra sets of arms.
I drew out the Minos Sword and strode into the mix just in time to see the giant beetle wannabe grab a battle-suited Lancer with its impossibly large jaws and shear him in half with what appeared to be no effort.
Then I was surrounded by the eight foot tall super soldiers. This breed was clearly superior to the six foot variety I had previously encountered in every way imaginable.
I lashed out with the Minos Sword, trying to sever the closest one's biggest arm, but it slipped sideways and somehow avoided the blow entirely. I grunted and used my momentum to bring my blade back for a reverse cut, this time going for its legs.
The soldier nearest to the one I was attacking managed to interpose itself and either kicked or swung its arm upward beneath my sword, striking the flat of the blade and knocking it off course. Again, I missed entirely. Realizing I was now outnumbered, I adjusted my stance and moved to prevent the two creatures from flanking me.
Stronger, smarter and better able to work as a team, this little group of Bugs was determined to give us a run for our money. I still had a few tricks up my sleeve, though.
I called for the Lancers nearest my position to form up, even though I didn't really know which formation they would take. It only took a few seconds, since everyone else had encountered the same surprise that I had. Once we were assembled in a flexed line of some sort, with me near the right flank of our little group of eight or ten warriors, the Bugs' teamwork advantage was completely neutralized.
I learned quickly that even though these were vastly superior versions of the ones we had fought before, the Minos Sword was more than up for the challenge, and when combined with the power servos built into the arms of my battle suit, I cut a swath through the raging Bug marines.
A group of three came at our flank, trying to separate myself and the Lancer
to my right off from the group, but the entire line adjusted sideways to keep them from gaining any kind of positional advantage. The Lancer next to me made one pay quickly, using a vicious downward hack with his Mono-Locsium axe to cleave more than halfway through the midsection of the Bug I had originally tried to deal with. I couldn't help but feel I had been somehow cheated.
Determined not to be outdone, I lunged forward with the Minos Blade, and my power-assisted leap covered just enough of the distance between myself and the Bug that had knocked my previous blow aside. This time, there was nothing to stop the Minos Blade from slicing him neatly in two pieces, which was actually surprising at first. With Bandersnatch, it was simple enough to kill these things, but the Minos Blade was different. Hacking through them with the old vibro-blade was like you might expect, like sawing through a piece of meat with an old butcher's cleaver. The Minos Sword, however...a hot knife through butter seems to be the best available metaphor.
The line of men I had assembled quickly advanced to my position, and the killing began in earnest. In every direction there were pieces of dismembered non-sentient insect life being cast violently into the vast emptiness of cold space.
I was getting into quite a rhythm when I realized with a start that I had reached the side of the super beetle that seemed to be fixated on reaching the airlock we’d cycled through.
I wasted no time and hacked off several legs, and with them out of the way, slammed the Minos sword into the side of its carapace.
With a grunt, I pushed it all the way in to the hilt, and then twisted and wrenched the sword around. I was starting to get a pretty decent sized gash opened up in the side of this super Bug when its head and super-sized jaws came around and knocked me into its side.
It couldn’t get a grip on me with its jaws, but it might as well have because the next thing I did was rebound off its side. Just like that, I’d lost contact with anything I could use to propel myself back into the fight and was slowly floating away from the hull of the Lucky Clover.
Admiral's Gambit (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 19