Armada

by Paul Teague

  Kearney scratched weakly at Hunter’s arm, while Mason punched up, trying to deliver a telling blow or catch the Bot.

  Hunter was fading, he was sure, but his strength was formidable. Mason pummelled at the Bot as Hunter leaned forward, trying to crush his foes against the deck.

  Mason felt liquid splash against his face, and would have retched if he’d been able. He OctoBot’s shell was cracked and its liquids were draining away. As Kearney passed out, Mason finally realised that there was only one way out of this. They just had to keep breathing long enough to see the moment arrive.

  20

  Mason heard his name being called, as if from a long way off. He levered open his eyes and peered blearily around. The world was swimming, his neck ached, and he could barely draw breath.

  “Damn it,” Hunter was saying, “what the fuck happened?”

  The big man was rocking back on his heels and squatting between Mason and the corpse-like Kearney. The Bot’s brain, no longer surrounded by enough liquid to keep it alive, had slithered out of the hole in its container and dropped to the deck between Mason’s and Kearney’s heads.

  Still unsure what was going on, Mason watched entranced as Hunter pulled each of the OctoBot’s eight needles from his flesh. He tossed the carcass aside and rubbed at his neck.

  Mason scrambled to take a breath. His neck was tight and sore, and it felt like there was no room for air to pass into his lungs. Kearney lay still on the floor.

  “What happened?” Hunter asked. “Did I do this?” he hissed, looking around.

  Mason couldn’t speak. He just rolled onto his side and shook Kearney’s shoulder.

  “Oh, fuck!” said Hunter as a couple of OctoBots pattered through the dimly lit corridor and disappeared into the access conduit where Vernon had been taken.

  Kearney gasped and drew in a deep, life-clutching breath, then coughed it all out in ragged hacks. Mason closed his eyes in relief, then flopped onto his back, exhausted.

  “The Bots got you,” he said to Hunter, “and that was nearly the fucking end of us. Is Kearney okay?”

  Hunter leaned over her and nodded. She was breathing and her eyes were flickering, but her neck was swollen and red.

  “I’m so bloody sorry, guys,” Hunter replied, distraught at what he’d done. “Please tell me I didn’t kill anyone? I had no clue what was going on. They get into your brain completely.”

  “That deserves a bloody medal,” said Kearney quietly, her voice a mangled mess. “Nobody should have to live in your head, Hunter.”

  Mason managed a harsh laugh, then had to cough his lungs up.

  “Sorry,” Hunter managed again before Mason interrupted him.

  “Not your fault,” he said with a throaty rasp. “Just pleased we got you out of it alive.”

  “And that bloody arm, Hunter,” Kearney began, raw and rasping. “The frigging thing almost killed me. You need to put a ... a padlock on that thing.”

  “I’m so sorry, both of you,” Hunter reiterated with a shake of his head. “But we need to move. Are you ready to stand?”

  Mason nodded, and the three troopers heaved themselves upright, all leaning on each other and as unsteady as newborn calves.

  Hunter winced. “What the fuck happened to my leg?” he said, twisting to look. “It hurts like hell.”

  “You picked up a scratch,” said Kearney with a sniff. “Let’s just say we’re even and leave it at that.”

  Mason made a sign indicating that the Marines should mute their audio channels. He paused, then said, “Stansfield tried to blow your head off back there.”

  “Bollocks,” said Hunter, not believing it. “Shit, you’re serious? And I thought we were friends.” There were a few moments of silence while he thought about it. “I’d have done the same,” he said at last. “Given the circumstances, I’d have made the same call.”

  “Such a generous spirit,” observed Kearney. “It was still a shitty thing to do.”

  “Hey, we’re alive, aren’t we?” Hunter said.

  “How come your head didn’t go pop?” asked Mason. “Is there something you want to tell us? We spun Stansfield some yarn about the OctoBots suppressing the device.”

  “No way he believed it,” muttered Kearney.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” said Mason, “but we’ve got your back, Hunter. If we stick to the story, he’ll be none the wiser.”

  “Promise you can keep a secret?” Hunter asked.

  Kearney and Mason nodded.

  “I deactivated it while I was sorting out that cluster of OctoBots. It’s the first moment I’ve had to myself since they uncuffed me. Seriously, they had me cuffed from the moment Woodhall’s team captured me to the moment I was introduced to you lot. Imagine wiping your arse with cuffed hands. It’s not easy, I can tell you.”

  “And I thought that piece of brain down there was disgusting enough,” said Kearney, making a face. “Now you’ve made me think of something even more gross.”

  “So he can’t blow your head off anymore?” Mason asked.

  “Yes and no,” said Hunter as he collected a rifle and checked its magazine. “The device is still in my head, but it’s been deactivated. It’s still there, but it can’t receive commands from Stansfield’s remote. Stalemate; I’m safe till they realise what I’ve done, then they’ll replace it or something and...” He mimed an explosion.

  “We won’t tell,” Mason reassured him.

  “Right,” said Kearney. “Stick to the story and we’ll all be fine.”

  “We’re clear down here, bridge,” said Mason after unmuting the command channel. “And Hunter is back in the land of the living.”

  “Good,” said Stansfield. “What of Commander Vernon?”

  “We think the commander is still alive,” said Mason, “but the Bots have taken him towards the core. I’d like to send a scout drone along the conduits to find out what they’re up to in there.”

  “Agreed,” said Stansfield. “Fernandez, get a drone team to the core and make that happen. Charlie Team, there are medics on their way. I want you patched up and back in action as soon as possible, clear? Mason, I want you to supervise a mine-setting operation to greet the enemy armada when it arrives.”

  “Roger,” said Mason, sliding back down the wall as a team of medics appeared with an escort of Marines in full power armour. “Charlie Team out.”

  On the bridge, attention was focused on the enemy armada.

  “Admiral,” said Midshipman Pickering, who’d taken Henry’s place at the weapons command console, “the armada’s battle fleet just jumped again. They’re almost at the portal.”

  “What?” snapped Stansfield. “How did they manage that?”

  “Unclear, sir,” said Lieutenant Yau. “They must have some kind of jump or acceleration technology.”

  Stansfield stared for a moment at his science officer, then took a calming breath. “Thank you for your insight, Lieutenant,” he said acidly. “Where’s Khan?” he said, casting around the bridge for his comms officer.

  “Dead, sir,” said Yau.

  “Dammit,” snapped Stansfield, glaring around the bridge. “Hail Captain Ryan,” he said, “and patch him through.”

  “Ay, sir,” said Yau, “hailing now.”

  “Admiral,” said Ryan a few seconds later, his face appearing in a corner of the main screen.

  “Captain,” said Stansfield. “How’s the deployment progressing? I take it you’ve seen that the armada’s battle-fleet is almost upon us?”

  “Yes, Admiral, we’re fully up-to-date. Resolution is less than an hour from the portal, so we have back-up close at hand.”

  “That’s good to know,” said Stansfield. “And maybe you could confirm what’s being sent to us, Captain.”

  Yau switched the main screen and the approaching armada to a view of the space between the two battleships. Orion had moved close to Vengeance, and there were over thirty shuttles and cargo haulers making their way between the vessels, each packed with
essential supplies, equipment, arms, munitions and crew.

  “We’re delivering a compete update,” said Ryan. “You’re getting pilots, bridge crew, Marines and administrative staff. Over eight hundred people in total, as well as food, hydroponics units, cloning equipment, modern water filtration systems, atmospheric processors, fabricators; the lot. Vengeance will feel like a new ship by the time we’re finished.”

  “Well, I must thank Mr Woodhall for his excellent work in requisitions,” Stansfield replied, completely straight-faced. “And what about fighter craft, Captain? Did the Admiralty send us new stock?”

  “Fighters?” scoffed Ryan. “No, Admiral, there are no ‘fighters’. Orion has a mix of semi-autonomous weapons platforms, fast assault craft and short-range destroyers. Once we’ve dealt with the enemy force, we’ll be happy to oversee your refurb, Admiral.”

  “I’m not so sure we’ll make it that far,” Stansfield replied. “We’re going to need everything that Orion can throw at that armada. We haven’t a clue what we’re facing.”

  “I’m going to come over,” Ryan continued as if Stansfield hadn’t spoken. “I think it’s best if you, I and Lieutenant Woodhall meet face-to-face before we engage the enemy.”

  “Agreed, Captain Ryan,” said Stansfield, wondering what fresh idiocy such a visit might herald. “We’ll look forward to welcoming you on board.”

  Ryan signed out and his image vanished. Stansfield took a moment to think it through. New crew and new kit for an admiral who’d been in stasis for half a century. He felt tired, worn out, but he knew that he was pivotal in fighting this enemy. The last enemy he’d fight, if he had his way.

  He forced himself to focus on the matter at hand and turned to his science office. “What’s going on with the Battle Sphere, Lieutenant?”

  “Corporal Conway reports that things are under control, sir. Orion’s crew landed some time ago, along with a company of Marines under a Captain, er, Figgis. They’re being briefed by Marine X right now.”

  “Hah!” said Stansfield. He had no idea who Captain Figgis was, but if he was anything like Ryan, he was bound to enjoy a briefing from the Navy’s most annoying Penal Marine. “Put the armada back on the screen.”

  Stansfield stared at the ships, wondering about the strength of their armour, the skills and training of their crews, their weaponry. Would the Royal Navy be a match for them?

  Then the main screen went blank.

  Stansfield blinked. Equipment failures were common on Vengeance, but the timing couldn’t be worse. “What happened, Lieutenant?”

  “Checking, sir,” said Yau, his hands flying across his console.

  Then the proximity alert sirens began to sound, and red lights flashed across the bridge. The screen flickered and suddenly there was just a single ship in view, close up and in magnificent detail.

  “Lieutenant?” growled Stansfield.

  “The battle-fleet jumped again, sir. They’re here, right now. And they’re readying their weapons to fire on us.”

  21

  The firefight was fast and heavy. Mechs flooded into the control room, heedless of their own safety, and opened fire as soon as Charlie Team came into sight.

  But for all their ferocity and aggression, they were ineffective soldiers. For Conway and her team, the biggest worry was that they’d run out of ammunition before they ran out of enemies.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said as another squad of Mechs charged their position and were torn apart. “They’re going to block the doors with their corpses if this goes on much longer.”

  The Mechs were now clambering across the corpses of their predecessors as they scrambled into the control room. In places, the pile was already three or four deep, and still they came on.

  “How many so far, do you reckon?” said Ten as he reloaded his rifle. They’d settled into a rhythm – two firing, two resting, Davies hacking at the command systems – to conserve ammunition. Jackson and Gray were firing now, while Conway and Ten paused to gather their breath.

  “A hundred, maybe?” said Conway. Jackson raised his rifle to signal he was out of ammunition, and Ten smoothly picked up the work, drilling two more Mechs as they attempted to force their way into the room. “Davies, how long till Figgis arrives?”

  “Minutes,” said Davies distractedly, “no longer. I’ve opened the main bay doors for his shuttle.”

  “Let’s hope he’s brought some friends,” said Jackson, “or this’ll be the shortest command review ever.”

  A few minutes later the flood of Mechs suddenly stopped.

  “That’s Figgis,” said Davies. “His company’s deployed into the Sphere and they’re working their way towards us.”

  “He can’t have drawn all the Mechs, surely,” said Conway, peering past her smoking rifle at the huge pile of bodies.

  “Time to go, either way,” said Ten, moving quickly down the room towards the corpse-crowded doors.

  “There’ll be more of them out there,” warned Jackson. “Hundreds, probably, waiting to ambush us.”

  “Maybe,” said Ten as he picked his way across the bodies, “but there’ll be scores of OctoBots in here any minute. You want to hang around to say hello?”

  Jackson didn’t, and neither did the rest of the team. They followed Ten into the corridor beyond the control room.

  “Which way, Davies?” said Conway.

  “Stairs,” he said, pointing, “and up five flights to the master command room.”

  “You’re sure about this?” said Ten as they climbed the empty stair.

  “No,” said Davies, “but what choice do we have?”

  They followed the stairs, heading to the top of the command stack, but saw no Mechs. There was gunfire, though, from across the Sphere.

  “Figgis,” said Davies, “they’re engaged.”

  Then a new channel opened in their HUDs and a command icon popped up with new orders.

  “We’re to hold our position and await reinforcement?” said Ten incredulously, looking around at the rest of the team as they climbed the last run of stairs.

  “Fuck that shit,” said Conway. “We don’t take orders from him.” She braced to one side of the double doors at the top of the stairs and waited for the rest of the team to find their positions.

  “On three,” she said, counting down with her fingers.

  Ten punched the door control on zero and Gray and Jackson slid into the room beyond, rifles raised and ready. Conway and Davies followed, with Ten bringing up the rear. They trooped into the huge room, all searching for something to shoot.

  “Where are they all?” asked Conway, suspicious.

  “Not here,” said Davies as he scuttled over to a console and settled down. “I’m in,” he said a moment later. “And yes, this is it. Let’s see,” he said, chortling to himself as he inspected the system and planned his moves.

  Ten drifted across the room to the doors on the far side and triggered the mechanism. They slid silently open to reveal a horde of Mechs approaching at speed. Ten hurriedly closed the doors again and retreated back across the room.

  “Company,” he said quietly, “and lots of it.”

  “Positions,” said Conway. “We need to buy Davies the time he needs to shut this shit down.”

  The team scattered, taking cover behind consoles and equipment racks. Only Davies remained where he stood, hunched over the console and working as fast as he could.

  “Prep the lock, check the backups, switch out the encryption key,” he muttered to himself as he worked. “Almost there,” he said, “just a little longer.”

  They could hear the feet outside the door.

  “Steady,” said Conway as the door opened. She raised her rifle and flicked off the safety. “Steady.”

  The doors opened just as Davies said quietly, “Et voilà!”

  Nothing happened.

  The team were silent and immobile, frozen in place as they waited for the Mechs to arrive. After a few seconds, Ten glanced at Davies, who
gave a little victory dance.

  “What have you done?” Ten asked as he stepped out from around his console and eased towards the doors, rifle raised and ready.

  “Mechs disabled, enemy command unit isolated and on restricted power. The ship,” said Davies smugly. “is ours.”

  “Sweet,” said Ten, peering carefully around the doorframe. The corridor was filled with Mechs, all standing in neat rows. Ten poked one, and it rocked back on its heels. He pulled the weapon from its unresisting hands and stepped back. “Nice job.”

  There was a sudden commotion at the far end of the corridor, and Ten eased back, dropping the Mech weapon to raise his rifle.

  “Company,” he said peering into the gloom.

  Then a figure forced its way between the Mechs. A Marine in power armour stepped out from the front row and nodded to Ten. There was a click, and the Marine removed her helmet.

  “Wotcha,” she said with a grin. “Greetings from Orion. Are we late?”

  22

  “Action stations,” ordered Stansfield, as calm as if he’d ordered a cheese sandwich rather than issued a call to battle. “All hands to their posts. Hail Orion, Lieutenant. And somebody ask Lieutenant Woodhall if he’d care to join us on the bridge.”

  “Captain Ryan on your screen now, sir,” said Yau.

  Ryan was on the shuttle already, making his way over to Vengeance.

  “You’re aware of our situation, Captain?” said Stansfield.

  “Yes, sir, I just saw the update. How many battleships?”

  “We count six,” said Stansfield.

  “They’re getting ready to fire, sir,” said Yau as he covered the weapons console.

  “Battle Sphere, this is Stansfield. What’s your status?”

  “Reading you loud and clear, Admiral,” came Ten’s voice. Stansfield frowned, annoyed by the Marine’s cheery tone. “We have control of the Battle Sphere. Where do you need us?”