“Very well,” Schwartz said, quickly tapping her first target. “Fire when ready.”
Schwartz felt the hull start to vibrate as the rail gun opened up.
On the display screen, it was possible to pick out the sparkling line of weapons fire which peppered the chosen target before the screen changed and the next potential target appeared.
It all happened so quickly that at first it was difficult to fully comprehend what was going on. They seemed to be picking off their targets with impunity. It was more like a training exercise than actual combat. Every once in a while, they’d strike lucky and their target would explode, sometimes spectacularly.
All the while this was happening, she was braced, anticipating the counterattack. But there was no sign of it.
What was going on?
She was distracted by a slight buzz in her ear and then Khan’s voice was there, filling her head.
“Lieutenant commander! You’re going to have to stop for a minute. We’re running low on ammunition.”
“Cease-fire,” she commanded and instantly the display in front of her froze.
“What’s the matter?” she said, inclining her head to one side. “I thought we had plenty of ammo.”
“We did, until you started shooting up the place. We’re already down to less than twenty thousand TTs.”
She looked at the countdown clock mounted on the far bulkhead. Less than two minutes had elapsed since they’d started firing.
“So soon?”
“’Fraid so. You’ve probably got another five minutes of continuous fire before we’re cleaned out. But I’d appreciate it if you could restrict yourself to thirty second bursts. We don’t want these things to jam.”
“Okay, lieutenant, thanks for the update.”
She cut the connection.
“Something wrong?”
Faulkner had appeared at her elbow.
“We’re running low on kinetic rounds, sir.”
Faulkner raised his eyebrows.
“Then it’s perhaps time for a re-think.”
Schwartz looked at him askance, “Sir?”
Faulkner ignored her and looked to his left. “Mr McNeill. How long before we’re out of effective weapons range?”
McNeill didn’t need to consult his screen.
“We have another eighteen minutes and twenty-two seconds, sir.”
“Then we need to make every second count. XO, we’re going to have to be realistic. The best we can hope for now is to try and slow her down.”
Schwartz bristled at that. They’d come so far and yet at the last, they’d been stymied. They’d simply run out of ammunition. It was a ridiculous situation to be in but there was no getting away from it. The only positive was that they weren’t on their own. They still had the Serrayu to fall back on, although Captain Sunderam still seemed to be taking his own sweet time getting those missiles away.
It was almost as if he were reluctant to engage.
CHAPTER 21
“I’m going to need some help,” Vincenzi said, his throat rasping as he spoke.
The smoke was getting worse and he had to keep blinking to clear his eyes.
The group of spacers coming down the corridor didn’t seem to hear him. As they drew closer, he saw that one of them was bleeding badly from a head wound while the others looked past Vincenzi, concern etched on their faces. As soon as he realised what was happening, Vincenzi stepped aside in order to let them pass.
Young men looking out for their friend. In their position, he’d probably have done the same thing.
Besides, it wasn’t likely that they’d have recognised him as a senior officer. He was without his jacket and was cradling his left arm. He’d broken it earlier sitting in the Officers’ Mess. He’d stopped off to get something to eat when the whole universe seemed to shift violently. The sound of multiple explosions detonating deep within the body of the ship had foreshadowed what was to come. And then, mere seconds later, one of the maintenance panels had burst out of the deck, striking him just below the shoulder.
He’d tried not to look at the nub of bone sticking out through his skin as he’d busied himself shredding his jacket in order to turn it into a sling.
Normally, that would have prompted a trip to the medi-bay but the level of destruction he’d witnessed in the last few minutes suggested that they’d have more pressing matters to attend to. Plus, he needed to check on the admiral and the entrance to the bridge was just up ahead.
Wouldn’t take a minute.
The fact that there was no sign of the Marines who guarded the bridge twenty-four seven was the first indication that things were even worse than he’d suspected. Up until this point, he’d taken some solace in the fact that there’d been no attempt to evacuate the ship but the closer he got the more he started to realise that this was much more than some simple oversight.
Where was everyone?
The door didn’t peal back automatically when he approach and he had to spend time looking for the manual over-ride. There was an acrid stench in the air and he realised that he couldn’t see very well. The lights were on but they were muted in some way. He spent a couple of moments searching for the panel and, when he located it, wasted no time entering his authorisation code.
But when the door opened, he was hit by a rolling black smoke cloud which spilled out into the corridor. He had to take several steps backwards just to regain his breath, though what worried him most was the intense heat venting out through the entrance way. If there’d been a fire on the bridge then that might explain why no one had triggered the alarms, though surely the sprinkler system should have dealt with that. It didn’t make any sense.
He took a moment to try and make sense of what was happening, hugging his arm for reassurance. He knew what he needed to do: he had to go inside. He was just worried about what he might find when he got there.
He covered his mouth with his hand while he inspected the over-ride panel, concerned that once he was inside, the door might seal itself. But from what he could figure out, there was no way of guaranteeing that that didn’t happen. Just as he was starting to have second thoughts, a figure appeared at the other end of the passageway and stumbled towards him.
As the figure drew level, Vincenzi clapped a hand on their shoulder before leading them out into the main corridor. They were wearing one of the thin suits set aside for emergencies and Vincenzi helped to ease down the zipper at the back. When the hood was pulled down, Vincenzi found himself confronted by a man in his late twenties, his dark hair plastered to his forehead.
“I’m Commander Vincenzi,” he introduced himself, prompting the other man to give a quick salute.
“PO3 Harris, sir. I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”
“That bad?”
“I’m afraid they’re all dead, sir.”
Vincenzi tried not to react.
“What was it? A fire?”
“Couldn’t say, sir. I was just passing through when I saw that there were no guards on duty. That got me to thinking. So, I went back along the corridor to get myself this,” he tugged at the fabric of his thin suit. “Thought I might be able to lend a hand.”
“Is the admiral in there?”
“Can’t honestly say, sir. They’re all over the place. But they’re all dead, like I said.”
“You checked for vital signs, I take it?”
“Honestly?” he looked deflated. “I must have checked two or three. But you can’t see what you’re doing most of the time. That smoke’s terrible.”
“Okay,” Vincenzi started to pull the thin suit over Harris’s shoulders. “You did very well, Harris. But I need to see for myself.”
Harris looked at him as if he’d lost his mind but didn’t resist as Vincenzi set about relieving him of his suit. It took no more than a few seconds to pull the thin suit to the floor, with Harris stepping gingerly out of it.
But while removing the suit one-handed proved easy enough, Vincenzi soon discove
red that putting it on was much less straightforward. He had to lie on the floor with his legs in the air while Harris teased the legs down over his shoes. Vincenzi didn’t bother trying to get his injured arm through the sleeve, just held it tight against his chest. Then it was up to Harris to try and pull the zipper shut in the back.
“Should I wait for you, sir?”
“No, I’ll be fine. You need to go and trigger the alarm. Get everyone clear of this area.”
“You sure, sir?”
Vincenzi slid his right arm into the sleeve. “I’ll be fine.”
When he was on his own, Vincenzi made his way back along the passageway. The build-up of heat was immediate but it was the smoke which really bothered him. Even with the thin suit on, he found it tough going forward. The suit came equipped with its own head torch but all it seemed to do was illuminate the mass of particulates in front of his face. If he held his hand up and slowly started moving it away after six inches or so it had effectively disappeared. So, in order just to keep progressing, he had to stay within touching distance of the nearest wall. Without that reassurance, he couldn’t go more than a few steps without pulling up involuntarily.
The idea of exploring the entire bridge area now seemed like a foolish pipe dream.
He was already sweating profusely and was thankful that the suit came equipped with its own oxygen supply, otherwise he couldn’t see himself lasting more than a few minutes in there. No doubt Harris would have used up quite a bit of the suit’s thirty-minute capacity but there was nothing he could do about that now.
He stood at the threshold for quite some time before setting off. He recalled that the admiral’s command chair was mounted on a plinth towards the rear of the bridge and thought he might have a decent chance of finding that on his first attempt.
If he over-shot it though and hit the back wall he wasn’t sure he’d then have enough oxygen left to allow himself to back track. There was a reason why so few people had made it off the bridge. The very air was toxic. His first sweep would therefore also be his last, so he had to make it count. Once he reached the back wall he would be able to follow it back around until it returned him to the entrance.
At least, that was the plan.
He hadn’t travelled very far when he came across two bodies lying on the floor. They were obviously dead but he felt that he still had to check just to be sure. By this stage, his arm was aching and he found he couldn’t stop his legs from shaking.
He was still determined to stick to his plan but realised that in the process of checking over the corpses, he’d become disorientated and lost sense of where he was headed. He couldn’t be certain now where the back wall might be located.
To add to his troubles, the air inside the suit was starting to heat up and he realised that his oxygen was running low. He’d soon be out of time.
“Can anyone hear me?” he shouted, his voice catching in his throat.
When no reply came, he just stuck out a hand and headed off in that direction. At some point he’d hit a wall and then he’d simply have to retrace his steps.
He shuffled forward but had to keep stopping, the thought of stepping on another limp body was unnerving him.
Then something sparkled, over on his left-hand side. He turned towards it, straining to see what it was but found that the suits eyepieces had seriously fogged up. He had to wipe them clean before he could see anything.
A shimmering curtain of green light seemed to call to him through the smoke and he set off with renewed vigor.
Which was when he stepped on something, his ankle twisting under him. With only one arm to provide stability it was all he could do just to stay upright.
The body was blocking his path and he had to tap it with his foot to find a way around it. But as he came around it, the thing seem to groan. Panic constricted his throat but he forced himself to stay calm.
Kicked the body, once, twice. No response.
No doubt some trapped air had been released.
He turned back towards the glittering light.
It was obvious now what it was. A holographic rendering of the Da’al ship
Winterson must have called it up just prior to the ship being hit.
He knew it was the admiral because he was still in his chair, head lolling forward on his chest.
Vincenzi slipped two fingers under his friend’s chin, searching for a pulse but there was nothing.
He repeated the process with the man’s wrist but the result was the same.
“Rest easy, old friend.”
He stood there feeling inadequate for maybe a minute. It was the sound of the suit’s respirator bleeping which brought him back to his senses, telling him he had less than five minutes of air remaining.
Vincenzi took several steps backwards, the sound of his heart hammering in his ears, and promptly stepped back on the body he’d encountered earlier.
“Easy!”
Vincenzi scampered sideways. “What did you say?”
But the figure could only manage a series of unfathomable grunts. Still, the man was alive.
Delirious, but alive.
And that had to be a good thing.
Dropping to the floor, Vincenzi brought his head up close to the casualty.
The man’s eyes were still open though there was no understanding there. Pale grey eyes.
Eyes which Vincenzi found he recognised.
He choked back a nervous laugh.
“Kerrigan?” he said. “Kerrigan, you ugly bastard. Is that you?”
Kerrigan’s lips moved but no sound came out.
Vincenzi pushed himself up onto one knee. Then he got a good grip on the other man’s collar.
“That’s it,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”
*
The target acquisition software was growing in confidence and Schwartz watched as each of the targets appeared on the screen only to be obliterated once the rail gun fire was trained upon it.
It was extremely thrilling to watch yet at the same time she couldn’t help feeling that they were only scratching the surface. If they really wanted to do some damage, then they were going to have to find some other more significant way of hurting their opponent. But even if they were to launch their full complement of missiles, they didn’t know enough about the Da’al ship’s design to be able to pick out a particular weak spot.
Not that that thought seemed to have occurred to the rest of the bridge crew. Everywhere she looked she saw ecstatic faces lost in the reverie of simple destruction.
“Katherine?” it was McNeill looking tremendously hollow eyed. Clearly, the stress of the last few days was taking its toll. “Might I have a word? In private?”
She furrowed her brow at this.
Couldn’t he see what was happening?
Yet, he did have an extremely serious expression on his face and, when she looked back at the screens, she had to concede that everything was running like clockwork. There was no need for her to oversee everything, no matter how much she wanted that not to be true.
“Okay. I can give you a couple of minutes.”
But when she looked back he seemed to have disappeared. He must have slipped past her and even now was making his way around the torn decking, heading towards the rear of the bridge.
As she skirted round the security tape, she shook her head. By the time they were finished, it would all be over and she would have missed it. She felt a sudden twinge of anger and resentment.
No one would have thought to interrupt Whaites at such a key moment. She was just too soft, she decided. Lending her sensitive ear to everyone, much to her own detriment. If she’d been a man, she’d have her own ship by now. It really was incredibly frustrating.
There was a bank of spare consoles set against the back wall which were seldom used but McNeill was heading there now. And that was when she had her first portent that something was wrong.
And if she doubted that, the thought was further compounded by seeing
that there was another figure standing over there. He had his back to them, but there was no mistaking Faulkner.
What on earth was he doing here?
They were in the middle of an engagement. What could possibly be more important?
Was he sick? Was that it?
Had the years finally caught up with him?
Certainly, when he turned, the captain didn’t look at all well.
“Katherine,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Her eyes went past him to the console. He’d been talking to someone and it looked as though the connection was still open.
Was it the Yakutians? Had they decided to pull out?
She wouldn’t put it past them.
“How much have you told her?” Faulkner said.
McNeill gave an apologetic shrug. “I haven’t said anything.”
Faulkner straightened himself as if about to deliver a speech.
“There’s a problem.”
“Is it … fixable?”
Faulkner and McNeill exchanged a glance.
“It is but there’s going to be a significant cost,” Faulkner said. “The shields are down and that’s a good thing. Do you have any inkling as to how the Yakutians might have managed such a feat?”
“No idea. I imagine they have access to some technology we’re as yet unaware of.”
Faulkner nodded sagely. “And, in a way, you’d be right. It was Mr McNeill who worked it out.”
If McNeill was pleased with himself, it didn’t register on his face. “It was a process of elimination, really. I wanted to know how the Yakutians could be so certain that their plan would work, and then I realised: because they’ve seen it work before. On The Naked Spur.”
Schwartz looked back towards the bridge where the attack was still ongoing. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“The Yakutians know that their technology works,” McNeill said. “Because it’s the self-same technology Admiral Winterson employed earlier.”
“What? You’re talking about the Sloth Gun?”
“That’s right. That’s what the Serrayu just used on Thor. At least their own version of it.”
“But how can that be,” she argued. “If we haven’t got access to it, how could they?”
Cry of War: A Military Space Adventure Series Page 37