Cry of War: A Military Space Adventure Series

by R. L. Giddings

  “Found this one skulking down by the cells,” Deetz said, holding LaCruz by the scruff of the neck. “I think she might be caught up in all this.”

  “They didn’t say they wanted anyone else.”

  “That’s because this one’s given them the slip. Trust me, they’ll want to speak to her.”

  “What’s it to you anyway?” the one on their right said.

  Deetz wrapped an arm around LaCruz’s neck and forced her forward. There were four of them now in a space less than a metre square. If things turned violent, she was intending to use LaCruz as some kind of shield.

  Deetz said, “You going to let me in, or you want things to get messy?”

  The guy on the right leaned forward, refusing to be intimidated. “The boss said he’s not to be disturbed.”

  “Jeter’s in there?” Suddenly, Deetz didn’t seem quite so sure of herself.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Okay. Then he definitely wants to hear this.”

  The woman pressed LaCruz’s face up against the door while she leaned over and hit the entry switch. The two brothers turned on her but by now it was too late and Deetz frog-marched her prisoner inside.

  By this time, LaCruz was starting to have serious doubts about how this was going down. Previously, all the security she’d seen had been pretty poor but here they actually seemed to have their act together. They weren’t taking any chances. LaCruz began to wonder whether, without a proper back-up, decent intel or even a basic tactical plan, she might not have over-reached herself a little.

  The cargo bay looked different to the last time she’d seen it. Previously, it had all seemed crowded and chaotic but now everything was stripped back. There were two shuttles, one over on the far side and one just in front of her which was being loaded and prepped for flight. Over in the centre of the bay she saw that a small but very familiar group had been gathered together.

  The albino was standing off to one side talking to one of his subordinates, while the female prisoners stood in a circle, overseen by three bored looking raiders. All of them wore side arms but they hadn’t thought to draw - the women looked frightened enough as it was. The only one who wasn’t was Kate Marsh, though her self-assurance took a noticeable dip when she saw LaCruz. Any thought of a last-minute rescue must have gone out of the window at that point.

  Then LaCruz caught sight of Sylvie. There was a large bucket on the table in front of her. Which sort of explained why she had water streaming down her face. It was only then that LaCruz realised that Jeter had removed his jacket and had his sleeves rolled up.

  “This better be good” he said without turning to face them.

  “I found this one down by the cells,” Deetz said. “I recognised her from before.”

  Jeter considered this. “Put her over there with the rest.”

  Deetz didn’t move straight away. This wasn’t how this had played out in her head. She’d clearly been expecting to be commended for her quick thinking. She hadn’t expected to be dismissed out of hand.

  “This is the one who took down Bodih,” she said by way of clarification.

  Jeter fussed with his sleeves as he turned to look at her.

  “And what’s that got to do with anything?”

  Deetz’s frustration transferred itself into the way she was gripping LaCruz’s neck.

  “She’s your main troublemaker, here. And what was she doing roaming around the place on her own? You ask me, if something’s amiss she’s the one you ought to be talking to.”

  It looked like Deetz had been paying attention after all. At least when LaCruz finally did get around to killing her, Deetz would understand why.

  “Alright,” Jeter said reluctantly. “Bring her over here.”

  Deetz shoved LaCruz in the back, forcing her forward. As she drew closer to the main group, LaCruz could see what a mess they’d made of Sylvie’s face and that angered her. One of her eyes was half closed and blood was running freely from a cut on her cheek. LaCruz had no idea what had gone on, but it looked as though her fears had been fully justified. They hadn’t wasted any time picking Sylvie up for interrogation. Whatever LaCruz might think about the discipline of the other raiders, it seemed that Jeter was cut from a different cloth. When he wanted something doing, he rolled up his sleeves and just got on with it.

  Good. She could work with that.

  Jeter pointed at her and then at Sylvie.

  “You two know each other?”

  LaCruz didn’t reply.

  “They were in the same cell.”

  That was the woman with dirty blonde hair. Petey. She’d come forward to stare at LaCruz.

  “Shared the same bunk too by all accounts.”

  If this extra information had been designed to buy her some advantage from Jeter, Petey was to be disappointed. Jeter looked straight at LaCruz.

  “You put your friend up to this?”

  LaCruz scowled back at him. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  Deetz stepped in close, driving her knee into LaCruz’s thigh. The pain was excruciating causing her to drop to one knee. Then Deetz grabbed her around the throat and tilted her head back.

  “How’s your memory now?”

  Jeter must have given some kind of signal to the two men standing either side of Sylvie. One grabbed her by the shoulders while the other started forcing her head towards the bucket.

  “Oh, no, please,” Sylvie cried. “I haven’t done anything!”

  The men got her head within six inches of the water and then held her there while Sylvie squealed, trying to turn her head away. They were well trained, waiting for the appropriate signal.

  Jeter raised a finger.

  For all that Sylvie resisted, the pressure on the back of her head was inexorable and her face inched towards the surface.

  LaCruz looked at Deetz. The woman merely smiled back at her. She was enjoying herself.

  They’d managed to get Sylvie’s forehead into the water but she kept twisting away from them, trying to take in as much air as she could before her head went under.

  It was hard to watch but LaCruz found that she couldn’t look away and, for all that she wanted to do something, she knew instinctively that now wasn’t the time. All the while, Deetz’s hold on her didn’t slacken.

  Sylvie’s head was fully submerged by now, prompting great gouts of air to come bubbling up to the surface. It looked like a monumental task just holding her there but the two men seemed equal to it. Concentration was etched on their faces as they fought to keep Sylvie’s head submerged.

  After a minute, the man pressing down on her head raised his eyes, only for Jeter to signal for him to continue. Only after a full ninety seconds had passed, was the pressure released, at which time Sylvie flung herself backwards, gasping, water flying everywhere.

  Jeter nodded, acknowledging a job well done then opened his arms to the other prisoners, inviting them to say something. This time, even Pevey stayed quiet.

  “She knows something,” Jeter said. “But she’s holding out, hoping that one of you might come to her aid and tell me the truth. Isn’t that right?”

  He looked at each woman in turn, hoping to provoke a response.

  “But we all know that’s not going to happen, don’t we? She’s on her own here. No one’s got a good word to say about her and eventually she’s going to tire or we’re going to misjudge it and she’s either going to end up drowning or her heart’s going to give out. Big girl like her, it’s going to happen eventually. Either way suits me fine.”

  He looked over to Deetz at this point and said, “Leastways, that’s how it normally goes. Not that that’s going to be the end of it. Oh no. I’m going to find out exactly what happened if I have to drown every last one of you sorry assed bitches. Understand?”

  “She was working with Jackson,” Petey said, pointing her out. “They were putting some kind of list together.”

  Jeter indicated for the two men to get on with their w
ork but Sylvie was on the floor at this point and LaCruz could only hope that the stress hadn’t been too much. The men tried to lift her back into her chair but she was a dead weight by now and they struggled.

  One of the men went and put the bucket on the floor. Then they proceeded to drag her over to it.

  Jeter said, “I think that it’s good that we have these little honesty sessions. Helps clear the air.”

  He went over and stood directly in front of one of the women in the circle.

  “And what do you have for me?”

  The woman was shaking uncontrollably but avoided Jeter’s eyes.

  “I’ve been stealing food,” she said. “From the mess hall.”

  Jeter furrowed his brow at this unexpected revelation. “You work in the mess?”

  “No. But I know one of the kitchen staff. We have a sort of understanding.”

  “Good. We’ll get to that later,” he turned and grabbed Kate Marsh in one dizzying motion. Then he pulled her to him. “And what about you? What have you been up to?”

  “I haven’t done anything,” Marsh spoke as clearly as she was able under the circumstances. “But if I had, you’d be the first to know.”

  “Of course, I would.”

  Jeter hit her low in the solar plexus, dropping her to the floor.

  Deetz stepped forward to get a better look and for the first time, her hold on LaCruz eased slightly.

  That was good, LaCruz thought. Keep her distracted, girl.

  Meanwhile, the two men were having no luck maneuvering Sylvie around. Her whole body had gone limp and even with one of them gripping her around the waist, they were getting nowhere.

  “Alright, alright,” Jeter said, seeing that she was clearly unconscious. “Let’s get somebody else up.”

  The women all took a step back at that and Jeter laughed. LaCruz couldn’t help thinking how attractive he looked. But then the moment passed and Jeter took on a darker demeanor.

  He was clearly toying with them. He knew exactly who his next victim was going to be.

  He grabbed a handful of Kate Marsh’s hair and dragged her to her feet. Then he walked her over to where Sylvie was lying.

  When Deetz shifted in order to get a better view of proceedings, LaCruz simply dropped to the floor. The move caught Deetz completely off-guard, pulled her off balance. LaCruz rolled away from her, instantly breaking her grip. But Deetz wasn’t finished and threw herself forward in an attempt to grab her again.

  But, instead of pulling away, LaCruz did the exact opposite, throwing herself backwards, the top of her head catching Deetz under the chin, snapping her mouth shut. Deetz staggered backwards while LaCruz fought to get to her feet.

  Strangely, none of Jeter’s men came forward to help. They were too busy watching Deetz, waiting to see how she’d respond, dispassionate observers in all this. If Deetz managed to recover then so much the better but there was no sense of loyalty there. They were too invested in the upcoming spectacle to want to intervene.

  In the interim, LaCruz skipped forward, her front leg lashing out to catch Deetz hard in the sternum. The kick knocking the air out of her and dumping her down on the deck.

  Then she tried to sit up but found that she couldn’t, her breath coming in short, painful bursts. She was still sitting there when LaCruz came over and kneed her in the face.

  Deetz’s head snapped back, blood pouring from her nose but still she refused to go down.

  LaCruz would have liked to have moved in to finish her off but she was suddenly aware of threats coming from all quarters.

  She moved forward, grabbed Deetz by the foot and lifted her leg into the air. Her would-be attackers froze, curious as to what she might do next but LaCruz simply tugged down the other woman’s trouser leg to reveal the knife strapped to her calf.

  The first raider approached her from the rear so probably hadn’t seen the knife until it was too late. By over-committing himself he’d left himself with too little room to maneuver so that when the knife came around there was little he could do to avoid it. The blade struck him in the stomach and he stumbled off to one side, his hands going to the wound and coming away covered in blood.

  LaCruz’s second attacker, seeing her distracted, came at her swinging a club. He managed to catch her a solid blow to the shoulder causing her to let out a yelp and as she turned, brought her knife up, stabbing him once in the stomach.

  The man looked at her in surprise, so close that she could taste his breath. Then she wrapped her free arm around his back before stepping in close and stabbing him repeatedly in the abdomen. She stopped after stabbing him half a dozen times, the blade making little sucking noises each time it was retracted.

  The third raider didn’t hesitate. He threw a punch straight at her jaw which would have knocked her senseless if it had connected, but her head was turning in that instant so he only caught her a glancing blow. Still, it was enough to stun her slightly and her attacker seized the initiative, grabbing her knife hand and then wrenching her arm back and behind her. He held her locked in that position for several seconds, looking to Jeter for guidance on what to do next.

  Only LaCruz had ideas of her own.

  The knife was useless so long as it was held it in the arm that was pinned. But what if she chose to let go of it?

  The man caught a glimpse of it as it fell towards the floor but couldn’t do anything because both hands were still being used to restrain her.

  All LaCruz had to do was wait for the knife to hit the deck. Then it was just a matter of scooping it up before sinking the blade into the man’s thigh, twisting it for good measure.

  The man screamed as she tried to pull it free because it was stuck fast. It must have got jammed against something.

  Not to worry.

  Her hands went to the man’s holster and when he resisted, she kicked him once between the legs. This brought him crashing to his knees, making it easier for her to tease the revolver out of its holster. The revolver was quite the relic though it appeared to have been well maintained.

  Keeping one eye on Jeter, she checked that it was loaded. Then, to ensure that it still worked, she shot the man in the foot before getting to her feet and levelling the revolver at Jeter.

  She enjoyed the feel of the weapon – she’d learned how to shoot with a revolver like this and she took the time to line her shot up properly. But then one of the guys standing over Sylvie made a sudden move and she had to shoot him instead.

  The gun twitched back in Jeter’s direction.

  “Why don’t you go and help her up!” she offered.

  Jeter glanced over at Sylvie’s slumped form and sneered.

  “I don’t think so.”

  LaCruz took careful aim and then shot him in the shoulder, shredding the fabric of his jacket.

  Jeter staggered backwards. Then he tried to lift his arm in an attempt to assess the damage but he found he could only raise his elbow a few inches. When he released it, the arm just flopped against his side, the hand dangling.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I must have misheard you. Were you just offering to help my friend?”

  Jeter raised his head, his eyes full of hate.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll give you a count of five then I’m doing the other shoulder.”

  Suddenly, the second man tending to Sylvie, surged forward.

  She fired on a reflex but missed. It was only as he drew closer that she was able to put him down with two subsequent shots. But as his face hit the floor, momentum kept his legs spiralling through the air. He hit the ground hard, rolled once and then lay still.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Jeter was clawing at his holster with his opposing hand. The good one.

  “What do you think you’re doing!” she demanded.

  He managed to get his pistol clear before someone shot him. He had a disgruntled look on his face as he tipped over backwards.

  LaCruz looked over her right shoulder and instantly regretted it.<
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  CHAPTER 17

  Winterson had expected that the process of transferring him to his wheelchair would have been more problematic. But in the end, Duvall had managed it single-handedly, picking the admiral out of his bed as if he were a child and gently depositing him in his chair.

  Winterson was in charge of the controls, which took a little getting used to at first, particularly when it came to doorways. But after successfully negotiating the entrance to the turbo-lift, which was a challenge in itself, he had grown in confidence. He sped ahead, forcing Vincenzi and Duvall to try and keep up. He headed straight down the middle of the corridor, making no concessions to any crew member who didn’t immediately get out of the way.

  He didn’t actually collide with anyone though it came close on occasions.

  Santiago had been targeted with nineteen missiles but Captain Marquez, blessed with a nimble ship, had managed to hold his nerve, waiting until the last possible minute before launching their SS-20s. They were decoy missiles, almost the size of a small shuttle and their payload of electronic counter measures had proven so effective that only four missiles had managed to get through.

  That left the Santiago’s crude defensive lasers to deal with the four remaining missiles. The lasers should have been totally overwhelmed but somehow they had managed to take down two. And then, at the very last moment, Marquez was able to pull off an impressive barrel roll which meant that even though the last two missiles did manage to detonate, the bulk of the impact was absorbed by the ship’s keel.

  She’d taken some damage and seemed to be leaving a vapor trail in her wake but other than that she was managing to maintain her heading.

  Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the Hudson. Targeted with twenty-eight missiles she’d attempted to outrun the onslaught but had been hit repeatedly, Winterson had stopped counting after the eighth impact, and now she seemed to be spiralling out of control. When Kerrigan had tried to contact her, he’d received no reply and with the ship rolling heavily, they had to assume that either she’d lost her helm or suffered some catastrophic systems failure.