by A P Heath
“We’re getting the hell off this doomed bucket then Lieutenant?” Johs said as he stepped up to Aitkin’s side. “What’s the plan sir?” His words were light, almost jovial in his usual manner, but his tone was flat. His speaking reflecting his habitual turn of phrase, not his feelings.
Aitkin could see his energy, barely held in check so the big sergeant almost seemed to vibrate on the spot.
Aitkin looked him in the eye, “We return to the Peregrine and launch warheads from the combat perimeter.”
His gaze didn’t waiver as the words reached into Johs’ mind and opened him up to the magnitude of their meaning. The sergeant’s eyes blinked once, twice and his brow creased.
“Without our fallen?” He replied out loud.
He spoke slowly, deliberately and Aitkin could feel the anger rising in him. It was the route he’d feared Johs would take.
His sister was dead, killed by an enemy they didn’t know nor understand on a mission that had made no sense to any of them since its very outset.
“We are to leave the fallen and evacuate, yes.”
Aitkin returned, hearing the drawn breaths of the marines
around and behind him. All of them had lost friends to this station, this mission. That was a reality of their place, but they knew, knew with a certainty as hard as the rock of Luna, that no matter the circumstances they would bring those fallen friends home.
His words had shaken that certainty. He could feel the cracks in his own belief and knew they would be running through the minds of the men and women of 1CR.
“They will be honoured…” He started, but Johs threw his hands up and turned his back on his lieutenant.
Aitkin wanted to calm him, to make him see there was no other way. He couldn’t explain the necessity for such an order; he didn’t know himself, but he did understand there was something more to this old supply station than they were being told.
Its loss meant more to Command than just a few techs’ lives and some hardware. He knew he was missing pieces of the puzzle, knew something important, critical to the Deorum was happening aboard GS-114, but beyond that knowledge he was lost in a void of uncertainty.
“Sergeant Johs,” Aitkin spoke out loud, his voice commanding, “You will follow the orders of your Lord Admiral.”
Johs kept his back to him. Aitkin felt the tension in this small space heighten. Johs’ marines knew their sergeant well.
He wouldn’t disobey an order, especially a direct order from the Lord Admiral of the fleet. At least, any other order. None of them had ever known of the marines being ordered to leave their dead behind. Couple that with the fact that one of those dead was their sergeant’s own blood sister and Aitkin knew not one among them could be certain what Johs might do.
If he disobeyed, if he went after her body it would be court martial. Augustine Johs would be dead still and her brother would likely join her.
Where she was remembered with distinction on the honour rolls of the Pride, he would be seen in shame for dereliction of his duty.
Aitkin couldn’t let that happen to his first sergeant.
To his friend.
“Marines of 1CR,” He sent out to the squad, “You will return to our drop ship at double speed and ready for launch.”
Johs turned slightly, looking over his shoulder.
“Maintain perimeter around the tertiary loading bay while Sergeant Johs and I ensure the last of the injured are evacuated.”
Johs had turned fully now, his eyes fixed on Aitkin’s. The understanding passed between them in silence.
Johs’ squad started moving, heading back into the trans-shaft in their pairs, eyes still scanning for threats. As they filed out Cooper hung back. He was young, under twenty years by the old Earth calendar, still fresh from the Academy on Luna, but a fierce fighter all the same.
He was a tall youth, not to the massive extent of Johs, but still half a head over Aitkin. His shoulders and chest were broad, his physique toned beneath the armoured suit of his uniform.
Johs had talked of him to Aitkin on many occasions. The sergeant saw some of his own qualities in the young marine and considered him something of a protégé.
“Permission to accompany you sir?” He said, stepping forward and standing at attention before Aitkin.
“Denied marine,” Aitkin replied.
He saw Cooper’s shoulders sag.
“This is not something you need to be a part of.” He added in an attempt to mollify the rejection.
“Begging your pardon sir, but I think it is.”
Cooper was not giving in. Johs raised his eyebrows sardonically at the youth’s response.
Surely he knows what we’re about to do.
“Your loyalty to your sergeant is admirable Cooper, but you have been ordered to evacuate this station.”
Aitkin ignored Johs’ look, directing his most authoritative stare at the marine in front of him instead.
“I understand that sir, but I believe you’ve received the same order and you don’t appear to be going anywhere.”
“Yes marine, but I am your superior in the chain of command and my interpretation of my orders is not a matter for you to
question.”
Aitkin could feel his annoyance at this temerity growing inside him.
This is what comes of showing a poor example he thought. I should be leading these marines to the loading bay, not risking my own court martial in the bowels of this floating death trap.
“I would never question your orders sir,” Cooper continued, “But I can’t help but question how you’re going to get into the reactor chamber.”
His look was innocent enough, but Aitkin could see the twinkle in his eye.
So very much like Johs.
Johs had turned to look at the door panel. It was flashing error codes after Aitkin had attempted entry just a few minutes earlier. There was something blocking the mechanism and neither Aitkin nor Johs had the technical acumen to resolve the issue. Cooper, however, had excelled in the Academy’s engineering program and had only narrowly missed a draft into the technical regiment.
“I assume you believe you can open this marine?” Johs said, still looking at the viewing pane.
“Yes sarge,” Cooper replied, suddenly all eager energy.
“The door’s mechanism has been jammed from the inside by someone activating the coolant leak emergency status.” Johs and Aitkin exchanged a look over Coopers head as he bent to examine the panel.
“All I need to do is override the reactor lockout by convincing the panel I have sanctioned assent to enter and confirming the leak is nothing more than a glitch in the core monitoring mainframe, caused by algorithmic anomalies in the safety programme sequencing.”
Johs’ eyes were wide and Aitkin knew his own face would be a reflection of the sergeant’s bafflement. Cooper’s fingers were dancing across the panel. Below them the information flittered across the screen with blurring speed.
“Take a breath lad,” Johs said, leaning in to look more closely
at the door panel. “Just tell us if you can open it.”
Cooper stood up and took a step back, smiling broadly.
“I already have.” He nodded to the panel.
“Would you like to do the honours Lieutenant?” He asked.
Aitkin took in a deep breath and stepped up to the doors.
“This step is in direct violation of the Lord Admiral’s orders.” He said grimly.
“If you choose to follow me I cannot promise you will not face punitive action.”
Behind him Johs simply nodded.
“Understood sir.” Cooper agreed.
Aitkin pressed his hand to the door panel. The wide bulkhead slid open along its horizontal split. The noise of the reactor chamber spilled out to engulf them; the deep thrum of the fusion core, the beeps and ticks of monitoring stations on the gantries that lined the walls and the mainframe below. Aitkin could see the aftermath of the battle here more clearly than the
viewing pane had shown. 1C3 were no more.
There were bodies in the grey and black of Deorum marines spread throughout the chamber. To his left he could trace the line of their fall back from the core. The far wall held a stepped stair, descending two metres at a time before levelling out for a further metre and repeating.
Along its length he could see where the marines of Augustine Johs’ squad had died. There was little cover afforded by the few terminals stationed on the flat sections of the stair and even less intact following the firefight. A trail of the dead led back to the door, where he recognised the body of Augustine, lying prostrate below the internal door panel.
She locked them in.
The realisation hit Aitkin with another following in its wake. There was only one reason Johs’ sister would force a lockdown of the reactor chamber.
She knew we couldn’t win this fight.
Johs had bent over her still form, whispering something to her. To Aitkin’s right Cooper had taken up station on the gantry, leaning on the rail to aim his rifle down onto the open
floor of the chamber. His voice confirmed Aitkin’s suspicions.
“Enemy contact.” Cooper stated, almost calmly.
Aitkin looked up from Johs to see movement on the floor below. Figures were peeling off the small group gathered around the sealed entrance to the core and moving toward the nearest stair. First it was just a couple. Then there were more. Three, four, five of them walking with a silent purpose that Aitkin knew they would struggle to halt. Aitkin watched as they crossed the chamber floor, stepping over and on the bodies of marines and their own fallen alike.
“Can you relock that door?” He said to Cooper.
The young marine didn’t lift his eyes from the silent figures below.
“From the outside sir?”
“I don’t bloody mean for us to stay in here marine.” Aitkin replied, stepping back.
Johs was still kneeling over his sister’s body.
“Sergeant, bring her. Now!”
Johs lifted the body onto his shoulder without a word and stood, turning as he did to walk back out of the chamber. Aitkin slapped Cooper’s shoulder as a sign to follow and stepped backwards through the opening.
A sound echoed from the floor of the chamber, a dull boom that shook the air. Cooper was lifted bodily by a shockwave that rose up to the gantry, slamming him against the lintel of the open bulkhead.
Aitkin heard a sickening crack and saw how Cooper’s body bent unnaturally around the unforgiving metal. It collapsed to the floor, lifeless and still.
Aitkin cursed. He could hear steps, heavy footfalls on the vibrating metal of the gantry stairs.
“We have to move!”
He grabbed one of Cooper’s limp arms, vowing he would not leave another marine behind.
With his free hand he pulled another grenade from his belt pouch, armed it and tossed it through the door at an angle aimed to make it bounce along the platform beyond.
It was a gamble. If the grenade fell to the floor below its detonation could cause a genuine leak in the reactor and that would leave them all floating in space after the explosion had blown apart the substation they were standing in.
The grenade detonated out of sight, its blast heard and felt, but not seen. Aitkin was already moving to the trans-shaft, pulling Cooper up onto his own shoulders as he went. Johs followed close behind, the sergeant no doubt angry that retrieving his sister’s corpse had cost yet another good marine to fall in this bizarre combat.
Another noise issued out of the reactor chamber; a sound of grinding metal, tortured under stress and breaking. There was a crashing that could only be the gantry stair collapsing. Aitkin’s gamble had paid off. Inside the chamber he pictured the stairs collapsing to the chamber floor, taking their pursuers down with them.
Aitkin made it to the trans-shaft, climbing awkwardly through the rent in the shutters under the extra weight of Cooper. Above he could see faces from Johs’ squad. They were leaning over the edge, peering down with their weapons aimed.
“Get this man to the drop ship.” He called up, lifting Cooper as high as his straining arms could manage.
He felt the pressure lessen as arms reached down from above and pulled the body up and out of the shaft.
Aitkin turned to help Johs with his sister and saw the sergeant struggling to the broken shutters.
Behind him, holding onto him, was a prostrate figure. One of their enemy had made it out of the chamber, although not without injury Aitkin could see. One leg was gone below the thigh, its tattered end sliding along the metal decking without the bright blood trail he expected in its wake.
The man was holding Johs around the ankle, being dragged across the floor as the sergeant walked.
Johs was trying to bring his rifle to bear, its straps tangled and caught under the body he carried.
As Aitkin watched another form rounded the doors, then another followed. They were moving fast, despite the obvious damage he could see they had taken from his grenade.
Aitkin dived through the shutters, raising the barrel of his rifle and aiming past Johs to the figures in the doorway. He depressed the trigger on full auto, sending his bullets in a stream at his foe.
He shouted as he fired; one long roar of anger for the deaths they had caused. He saw the impacts, the puffs of dust where his projectiles reached their targets, the staggering of the bodies they penetrated. But the men he’d fired upon didn’t fall.
His shots had hit centre mass, punching holes in the chests as he sprayed from right to left.
Aitkin was moving as he fired, pulling his long combat knife with his left hand as he closed to hand-to-hand combat. He passed Johs, still struggling against the grip on his leg and barrelled into the man closest to the bulkhead.
He intended to knock to the first man down, or at least back through the doorway, allowing him to bring his knife up and into the flesh of the second.
It was hitting a wall. Aitkin rebounded from the impact. His breath was forced from his chest as he staggered backwards. The man hadn’t moved. He simply allowed Aitkin to run right into him.
Now together they both stepped forward. Aitkin raised his knife, standing his ground as they closed on him.
He slashed as they came close, feeling the blade bite deep and sail free. It didn’t slow his attackers.
He saw the first blow as it came towards him. Aitkin ducked as the arm was flung out, swaying to his left to keep him from running straight into the fists of his second attacker.
They were slower to react than him and he stepped forward and sideways, trying to get behind them to bring his knife to their throats. As he moved he caught sight of Johs, the big man falling to the deck, a hand pressing against the back of his knee. As the sergeant fell the body of Augustine tumbled from his shoulders, crumpling on the deck as he sprawled.
The view of his sergeant hitting the deck was a distraction. An arm swung up, the closest foe had switched his missed punch to a backhand swing. The movement was unnatural, making a mockery of momentum.
Aitkin saw the blow but was powerless to avoid it. A hand struck his face, pressure spreading across his jaw, his cheek, his temple. The power was phenomenal, tossing Aitkin from his feet to land on his back.
The knife left his grip as he hit the floor, skittering away from his fingers. His breath was gone, his head thundering from the impact, his rifle gone.
Aitkin tried to roll, tried to place his hands down to push himself back to his feet. His vision swam and his body screamed in pain as a heavy foot connected with his midriff, turning him over bodily to dump him face down on the deck.
Aitkin spat blood onto the metal flooring.
He could see Johs, the sergeant struggling against his own assailant. Somehow the one legged man had not only brought him down but had clambered the length of the sergeant’s body to bring him level with Johs’ snarling face. Aitkin saw Johs punch out, his hand ricocheting from his attacker as Aitkin had with his head o
n charge.
Johs cried out, his fingers broken and limp. The one legged man raised his head and brought it down hard. Aitkin saw blood fountain, heard the crack of bone. He pressed his palms flat, fighting the pain flaring within him to rise and go to his sergeant’s aid.
Another boot connected with his shoulder. Aitkin roared in pain as he felt the bone in his upper arm shatter from the force.
He rolled from the impact, hitting the far wall and sliding to the floor. His arm was agony, burning from his shoulder, down to his fingers and into his chest.
He wheezed a breath, his lung filling with needles and coughed. More blood splattered the deck.
Johs was lying flat, his attacker lying across his chest. He could see the ruin of Johs’ face from the brutal impact he’d received.
The sergeant was fighting on despite it. He was struggling, grappling with his assailant in an attempt to free his arm and bring up the serrated blade of the combat knife at his belt. His
attacker was pinning his arms against his chest with the
weight of his crippled body.
He watched Johs pull his left arm free with a roar of effort and triumph. Aitkin tried to lift his own body from the floor. He would not give in. Just as Johs fought on so would he.
They had been injured both, but neither was so badly hurt as to be out of the fight. The rest of Johs’ squad were close, all they had to do was hold off a moment longer while the marines came down the trans-shaft and brought their weapons to the fray. They could do this, they just had to hold on.
“Enemy contact!” He sent the comm signal wide.
He couldn’t stay down, he had to rise and fight, just as his sergeant was doing. Aitkin pulled his legs up in an effort to roll his body into a kneeling position.
Johs had pulled his knife, his arm bending back to jam the blade deep into his attackers ribs.
Aitkin felt the joy of triumph from seeing the wound open. It was short lived. With the blade buried deep Johs’ arm was held fixed. The man lying across his chest shifted his weight, sliding over Johs to reach down with his own right hand and clamping his grip over Johs’ wrist.