The experimentation with the gun hadn’t taken longer than a couple of minutes, but Conway felt guilty at being so easily sidetracked. He approached the steps.
“There’s another door up there,” said Berg.
These steps had a handrail which was bolted onto the wall. Conway didn’t use the rail and he climbed up. At the top, he discovered a compact landing area and another door. He stepped to one side in order that anything hostile wouldn’t get a free shot at him when he opened the door. With Berg and Gundro watching from a few steps down, Conway opened the door.
He waited. No shots came and neither Berg nor Gundro shouted a warning.
“Looks clear, sir.”
Conway peered around the door frame into a long, narrow room which went left to right across the opening. The lighting was much more subdued than the area below and the air felt charged. He took a single step away from the frame in order to see more details. The room contained three other exits on the same wall as this one. At each end of the room, Conway saw the type of curved doors he associated with airlifts.
On top of everything else, he noticed more corrosion on the walls, ceiling and three of the floors, as well as five Sekar-drained aliens. The only unaffected area was the opposite wall. One final exit – in that same opposite wall - was sealed by a larger and bulkier-looking door than the others. An access panel glowed red and Conway had a feeling that his squad were in the right place.
“I think this leads to the bridge,” he reported on the comms.
The room was empty, so Conway walked deeper inside, his footsteps creating tiny clouds of powdered alloy and leaving scuffs in his wake. The first of his squad members came after and they secured the room, under strict orders not to touch anything.
“We have arrived,” said Rembra.
Conway didn’t answer. He gave a cursory glance towards the soldiers to make sure they were in position. Lockhart and Rembra were old hands and nothing had slipped.
“Let’s do this,” said Conway.
He felt trepidation, without being able to explain why. His hand reached towards the access panel and he touched the red light with his fingers. With a rumble of heavy-duty motors, the tharniol-lined door slid into its recess.
“The bridge,” said Conway.
The area beyond was lit in daylight blue and was similar in size to the bridge on a diamond class carrier, making it about fifteen meters by twelve. A row of huge screens covered the front bulkhead, while complicated-looking consoles were fixed in two rows of six, with a central aisle. Right at the front, a larger, wraparound console was faced by a battered-looking seat clad in an organic material.
The bridge crew of this huge vessel were dead, but they hadn’t been killed by the Sekar. In front of each console sat two bodies, held in place by waist harnesses. At first, Conway couldn’t understand exactly what had happened here. The first body was part-decomposed despite the freezing temperatures. Its head was gone – messily – leaving a red-brown neck stump along with ragged strands of flesh and some pieces of bone. The next crew member had died in a similar fashion.
Conway’s foot caught an object and he looked, at first unsure what it was. It was part of an alien’s head - a gruesome piece of a jigsaw he didn’t intend putting together. Elsewhere on the bridge, the picture was the same – twenty-five headless aliens with the contents of their skulls spread across every exposed surface.
“Corporal Brice, get in here please.”
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Oh damn.”
“Shot themselves,” said Conway. It didn’t take an expert in forensics to figure it out. Alien guns like the one he’d picked up earlier lay next to all the seats.
“Why’d they want to go and do a thing like that?” asked Kemp.
“They thought a fast death was better than the alternative,” said Lockhart.
Whatever the reason, it was sobering to see what had become of the warship’s bridge crew. In order to save themselves from the Sekar, they’d blown their brains out.
“Maybe they know something we don’t,” said Barron.
Conway didn’t like to think about it and he turned his mind to the ongoing requirements of the mission.
“We’re at the bridge. Corporal Freeman, update the Revingol. The rest of you, secure the damned area until help arrives.”
The soldiers prepared themselves for the worst, while Conway surveyed the scene on the bridge once more. Everything was powered up and appeared to be online. The old crew was dead and it was time for a new crew to take over the reins. He hoped it would be as easy as that.
Chapter Ten
Griffin entered a final series of command codes into the Broadsword’s battle computer. It requested confirmation, which he provided.
“Ask someone on the Revingol to test the link,” he said.
“The link is confirmed as live, sir,” said Kenyon.
“What about the pickup?”
“Arrangements are in place, upon your word.”
“And the Gradior?”
“Good to go.”
“The Faxandil and Inrex are in position and providing cover, sir,” said Dominguez. “The Twister is on its way. ETA: five minutes.”
“Best get ready to run, folks. We’re setting down,” said Griffin.
Nobody moved from their stations. The dash for the forward exit ramp would come the moment the Broadsword’s landing feet connected with the hard surface of Glesia. After that would come a series of ever-increasing risks culminating, Griffin hoped, in a victory of incredible magnitude for AF1. They had a long way to go.
He took the Broadsword lower and lower. The conditions outside were deteriorating, though Griffin didn’t plan to remain outside for long. In the short time it took him to land the heavy cruiser, Prime011 destroyed two more ships from AF1. The balance was tipping the wrong way.
The life support didn’t completely deaden the gentle impact. The moment he felt it jarring through the controls, Griffin handed over command of the warship to the Revingol. He’d already programmed the autopilot with the required course and now Admiral Yeringar could make whatever alterations he wished.
“Go!” he urged.
The weapons cabinet was open and everyone took a rifle and a couple of spare magazines. After that, they moved for the exit. The maintenance crews were heading for the center and aft exits, leaving the forward corridors deserted. Within a few short minutes, the bridge crew were in the airlock, holding their guns and with their flight helmets in place. Lieutenant Shelton closed the outer door and Griffin waited impatiently for a green light on the ramp.
The light appeared and he hit the activation panel. Clunking gears made the floor vibrate and the exit ramp opened rapidly. A new sound rose above everything else – it was the noise of ice shards smashing against the heavy cruiser. It was accompanied by a wind, which somehow blew directly into the airlock and threatened to suck the crew into the darkness.
Griffin steadied himself and went out first. The wind had a mind of its own and it buffeted him and threatened to hurl him from the edge of the ramp. He took hold of the pop-up rail and descended as rapidly as he dared. His helmet sensor took a moment to adjust and then it told him a tale of broken ground and filthy ice.
He looked around for the Twister and thought he saw a shape about a hundred meters beyond the Broadsword’s nose. The wind shifted, the ice thickened and the shape vanished. He peered into the gloom, but the wind stubbornly refused to change direction again.
“I’m beginning to understand what kind of shit the ground troops faced,” he said.
“I hate this place already, sir,” said Shelton. “And I’m only two paces down the exit ramp.”
Griffin hadn’t reached the end of the ramp when a channel formed in his helmet comms.
“This Captain Carla Sparks from the ULS Twister. We’ve got you on our sensors, Captain Griffin.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You landed after we left the bridge. Is that you to the north?”
“That’s us. Come on over – it’s nice and warm inside.”
It was an offer Griffin couldn’t refuse. His feet hit the ground and he stepped away from the ramp. Another two paces and his left foot slid out from beneath him. He regained his balance, cursing at the same time.
“Watch your footing,” he said.
Lieutenant Kroll was the last member of the crew off the ramp. “And this time I wasn’t a burden,” he said.
“You weren’t a burden last time, Burt,” said Dominguez.
“Come on, hurry,” Griffin urged them.
They did what they could to put as much distance between themselves and the Broadsword. Kenyon and Murray used the comms to check on the progress of the maintenance crew.
“Everyone’s accounted for and clear of the Broadsword, sir,” said Kenyon.
A bass rumble came to them from the east. The sound rose and then shifted in direction.
“That’s the Gradior taking off,” said Griffin. He scanned the dark skies for a sight of the Fangrin heavy cruiser. Glesia kept its secrets and he saw nothing of the craft. The bass note receded as the warship gained altitude.
The Gradior’s propulsion hadn’t faded when the Broadsword’s engines thundered in preparation for its own departure.
“Tell the Revingol it’s ready to go,” yelled Griffin.
A few seconds after Kenyon passed on the message, the Broadsword’s front ramp lifted with glacial smoothness, its motors hardly audible over the other sounds. The heavy cruiser’s propulsion note climbed again and, in this tiny pocket of Glesia, the wind bowed to a greater force. Waves of compressed air beat upon Griffin and the crew, and the Broadsword’s immense landing legs creaked as the strain of supporting the spaceship was taken away from them.
Slowly at first, the heavy cruiser lifted off and Griffin felt as though he was being crushed by the weight of air. The sensation remained while he continued leading the others away from the lift-off site. At last, the pressure lessened and the Broadsword’s menacing form was swallowed up in the darkness.
Griffin stopped in his tracks.
“This is your last opportunity to change your minds,” he said.
“That’s not happening, sir,” said Kenyon. “The brave win wars, not the timid. When I signed up, I expected to put my life on the line and here I am doing it.”
“I’m glad to have you. All of you,” Griffin said truthfully.
And that was the end of it. The discussion started on the Broadsword and finished amongst the gale force winds of Glesia. Griffin was relieved to have his trusted crew with him – it took more than one person to fly any kind of spaceship effectively.
“Captain Drolst on the Inrex will attempt a pickup of the others in the next few minutes, sir,” said Kenyon. “After that, a shuttle to the Brightstar or the Revingol.”
Captain Sparks came onto the comms again. “You’d better pick up the pace if you want to be ready for the next attack on the flashpoint,” she warned. “If we miss this chance, you might be waiting a while.”
“We’ll make it,” said Griffin.
Nevertheless, he pushed the others onwards. Gradually, the familiar shape of a Viper class surface fighter came out of the ice and darkness. The Twister was running without lights and Griffin couldn’t see if the forward ramp was open or not.
“How many are coming with Captain Isental?” asked Shelton.
“Just him.”
“I thought the Fangrin would be all over this.”
“They would have been, Lieutenant. I think this is something to do with honor.”
“Like it was our idea so they can’t step on our toes?”
“I don’t know for sure. It’s possible.”
“I’d appreciate whatever help we can get,” said Dominguez. “The Fangrin know how to fly as well as we do.”
“No arguments there. Admiral Yeringar gave the clearance and he agreed the numbers. We’re going with what we’ve got.”
By the time he was close enough to the Twister to distinguish its forward ramp, Griffin was totally pissed off with the atrocious conditions. While a flight suit didn’t offer such comprehensive protection as a ULG combat suit, he was still in admiration of the soldiers who were obliged to put up with the storm at the same time as the Raggers pelted them with missiles and incendiaries. Not that many of the ground forces had made it this far.
The former crew of the Broadsword scrambled gratefully up the forward ramp and into the airlock. It was a tight fit and Griffin was required to send Murray, Jackson and Kroll through the inner door in order to make room. The process wasted precious seconds and by the time Griffin activated the ramp, Captain Sparks was politely chewing his ear.
“That’s everyone inside,” said Griffin. “You’ll need to override the inner airlock door so that both can open at the same time when we land.”
“Will do,” Sparks acknowledged.
The Twister looked and smelled like a Viper class and, when its engines readied for lift-off, the sound made Griffin think of other times when he’d been in command of the Fixer. Better times.
“Our escort is on route,” said Sparks. “Think you can handle a rapid departure?”
“Give it your worst,” Griffin replied, reaching for one of the metal support bars fixed to the wall.
Captain Sparks took the words to heart. The Twister’s engines howled and Griffin felt the brutal surge of acceleration.
“Not even on boost yet,” said Dominguez, her eyes wide with fear and exhilaration.
Griffin offered her a grin and she gave one back.
“Moments like this,” he said.
“Never forgotten.”
Sparks hit the boosters. Everything shook violently, the engines shrieked louder than before and any possibility of conversation was gone. Griffin and Dominguez kept their eyes locked, like they could see anything through by sticking together.
Griffin knew the flight would be a short one, but it seemed to last forever. The sounds and the buffeting turbulence made him think of humanity’s first steps into space – the risks and the sheer thrill of conquering nature.
Captain Sparks didn’t say much – her concentration was required elsewhere. For the moment, the Twister’s passengers were secondary; almost unimportant. They might live or they might get blown out of the sky by a Ragger missile, and Sparks was the only one who could influence the outcome. Once the Twister set down, that’s when the baton would be handed over to the small team who hoped to accomplish the impossible.
“Coming soon,” said Shelton, anxiously.
Griffin broke gaze with Dominguez. “You worried, Lieutenant?”
“Trying not to be, sir.” Shelton looked much younger now she was out of her comfort zone.
“You can shoot that gun, right?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“This is going to be a piece of cake.”
Shelton smiled and it almost looked convincing. “Yeah, piece of cake.”
The Twister came into some noticeably rougher weather and the air boomed as it tore past the hull. Nobody said anything further as they waited for the announcement to come. Griffin kept an eye on his HUD timer and occupied his mind by guessing how many seconds of the flight remained.
“You folks best get yourself ready,” said Sparks. “This is going to be a hard landing and we’re expecting some fireworks.”
“More fireworks than usual?” Griffin enquired.
“The Raggers have some troops on the ground. I’ll get you in as close to the hull breach as I’m able.”
Sparks closed the channel before Griffin could ask anything further.
“Trouble?” asked Dominguez.
“Maybe. This was never going to be straightforward.”
Griffin detected a change in the forces his body was straining against and the propulsion note indicated the spaceship was beginning its approach. The floor shifted and the life support system fought to keep the interior stable. Griffin spoke to his crew and
to Captain Isental. Everyone was as ready as they’d ever be.
A whoosh and a roar indicated that Sparks had launched Ultor missiles. A second later, the Shredders went after, emitting their own unique signature.
“Piece of cake,” Griffin repeated.
“This I can handle, sir,” said Shelton. “It’s what I know.”
“You can handle anything that comes to you, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There go the Shredders again,” said Kenyon. “Must be some real shit going on outside.”
An explosion went off, the sound coming from every direction. The Twister banked hard and violently. Kenyon’s grip on the support handle was ripped loose and he thumped shoulder-first into the airlock wall, his Gilner clattering on the floor. He swore and lunged for the handle, leaving the rifle to slide away from him.
“Near miss,” said Griffin calmly.
“Close enough to touch,” said Dominguez.
Captain Sparks fired a third volley of interceptors, the launch detonations muffled by a thunder in the Twister’s engines. Griffin recognized the sound.
“Now,” he said.
The spaceship thudded into the ground. The walls flexed and the landing legs banged hard against their buffers.
“This is it. Good luck, folks.”
That was the last Griffin heard from Captain Sparks. The exit ramp flew open, revealing a scene of fire and chaos. Griffin didn’t have a chance to take it all in and he didn’t hesitate in sprinting down the ramp, his Gilner clutched in one hand. The wind and ice flayed him and he cursed their existence.
Griffin’s feet hit the ground and he spun to make sure the others were with him. To his left, a vast, incomprehensible wall rose into the sky, glints of orange and white flames casting a shimmering glow upon its surface. He knew about the crater and its edge was less than fifty meters away. Captain Sparks had done them a real favor by getting in so close.
Ahead and to the right, a dozen or more plasma missiles detonated against the ground. Who fired them and what their targets were, Griffin didn’t know. He sprinted for the battleship, his head turned to watch the unfolding violence. The air was filled with beating waves of propulsion bass and the shriek of missiles tearing through Glesia’s atmosphere.
Nullifier (Fire and Rust Book 6) Page 8