Battlecruiser Alamo: The Price of Admiralty (15 page)

Pointless suggesting to shoot to disable with a plasma weapon. Wolfe fired the first shot, a green bolt that wildly few off-target, landing in a snowdrift by the side of the runway with a loud crack.

Voldinski managed to get a burst that caught one of the ATVs in the forward tread, sending it briefly jerking out of control before it lurched to a stop, a dozen men jumping out of the three hatches and throwing themselves face down in the snow, rifles at the ready. The second vehicle slowly moved forward, crunching underfoot; Flanagan jumped to her feet to unleash a shot, only to fall to the ground herself before she could fire, her body jerking as crimson blood spilled out of a hole in her temple.

"Medic!" Hunter unnecessarily yelled; Floyd was already down by her side, medikit open on his lap, trying vainly to stop the bleeding. Wolfe, screaming in rage, ran forward, only to be gunned down by a series of shots, leaving his body lying in the open.

Esposito yelled, "Volley fire! Take those bastards down!" and a succession of plasma bolts flew forward, scattering around their targets but leaving two of the guards bloody wrecks on the ground. She heard a noise behind and turned, to see behind her the source of the contrails, a hover-fighter about to unleash a fusillade of shots on her squad. "Take cover! Air attack!"

A hail of bullets ran down between the running troopers. With an angry tell, Riley fired a quick shot at the fighter, rolling nimbly in and out of cover, but the aircraft managed to evade the shot. The squad was pinned down, each trapped in their own individual scrap of cover, as the enemy forces began to crawl forward under suppressing fire from the surviving APV. Hunter looked around, trying to find a way out of the trap they had found themselves in.

"Do you guys always do last stands?" Orlova asked, firing a wild shot from her antique sidearm.

"You're catching us on a bad week. Usually the odds are far worse," replied Hunter. He raised his hand slightly, the rest of his fire team looking, then gave a sharp chopping motion. Four shots fired as one, lancing towards the rearmost APV, all of them catching on the armor.

Critically, one of them managed to score a hit directly on the power pack, and the explosion tore through the enemy troopers huddled close by, leaving them a collection of screaming remains, one on the outskirts desperately weeping in the snow, his skin charred black as he gasped in agony. The remainder looked around, obviously outnumbered, and all came to the same conclusion, huddling deep into the ground, waiting to see who won the battle.

"Just the fighter now, Serge!" Riley yelled. Suddenly, they felt a blast of searing heat on their backs; they turned to watch an assortment of metal shards falling to the ground, smoke rising from a newly formed crater on the far side of the runway. Esposito nodded towards Hunter, who signaled Riley to take her team forward; the remainder of the enemies raised their hands in surrender.

"What the hell?" said Esposito; Orlova gestured over to a figure on the distance waving his arm about, the long tube of a shoulder mounted missile launcher on his back. The figure began to run over towards them, Hunter cautiously keeping him covered. Riley made her way over to the trio.

"We
took out
all the officers, ma'am," he reported. "The rest just know that their orders were to capture us and put us in a transport for Janszoon. That's the capital."

"Anyone else out there we need to worry about?" Hunter asked, looking out at the approaching figure.

"No-one here, Sarge. A few support staff down in the control tower, but they're unarmed."

The figure turned out to be an old man with straggly gray hair, who smiled through a gap in his teeth as he looked across the surrendered soldiers, then held out his hand to Hunter.

"John William Forbes, at your service."

Hunter looked across at Esposito, slightly embarrassed, but firmly shook the old man's hand, "Lance-Sergeant Hunter, Triplanetary Espatier Corps." He gestured across, "This is my commanding officer, Ensign Esposito."

The man frowned, as if uncertain what to make of the information, but shrugged and offered her his hand, "Guess things are different out there than they are down here. We're pressed for time, Ensign."

Floyd looked over from his patient, "Ensign, Flanagan's in a bad way, Wolfe's much worse. I can't do much for them here, they need proper medical attention."

"Anything from Alamo?"

Shaking her head, Orlova replied, "Not a thing. They must have thrown up some sort of jamming field."

Esposito turned urgently to Forbes, "Can you get these men to a hospital?"

"I can't. My gang saw your ship coming down, reckon half the continent did, and I thought you might need some help." There was a second explosion from the other side of the runway; he jerked his head in its direction. "That means that my buddies have taken out the air defense in the area. You can take off."

Hunter looked at Esposito, who shook her head. "We're not going anywhere without information."

"Governor'll have more troops out here before you can say suicide run. Unless you've got a lot of reinforcements, I can't hang around for long."

"Give us the short version," Orlova said.

Forbes looked at her sharply, then nodded, "We're rebels, lads. Fighting the dark tyranny of the Governor who is selling us off as chattel work slaves to the highest bidder. Now if your Triplanetary people will provide us with help, we'll be only too glad to accept. We need all the help we can get."

"What'd you think, ma'am?" Hunter said.

"I think we'd better get our wounded onto the shuttle and get it back to Alamo ASAP. Floyd should go with them to keep them alive for the trip and report to the Captain." She turned to Forbes, "You have your first help, Mr. Forbes. A squad of Espatiers are at your disposal."

"Es-what-iers?"

"Space marines, to you," Hunter said.

Forbes looked around at the horizon, as if expecting it to be dark with enemy aircraft within an instant. "We've got a camp not that far from here I can take you to. Going to be hard to get you back if this goes wrong."

Esposito turned to Orlova, "Get them back, Maggie."

The pilot nodded, and gestured to Khachaturian to bring out a stretcher. First Flanagan, carefully placed across three couches as comfortably as possible, then Wolfe, who jerked spasmodically as they gently loaded him into the shuttle's medical berth. Floyd shook his head at the Private's condition, injecting him with a shot from the medikit with a doubtful look.

"Khachaturian?"

The observer ran over, "Yes?"

"You've had basic pilot training, right?"

He looked doubtful. "I have."

"Good. You're taking these casualties back to Alamo. Esposito's going to need every hand she can get down here, and I'll do more good than I will up on Alamo."

"I don't think you should do that."

She waved her pistol around, dangerously, "The alternative is that we see if the
shuttle
can make its way back to Alamo entirely on autopilot. What do you think?"

He looked at the pistol, shaking his head, "That I should fly the shuttle back to Alamo. Let me tell you something – you are crazy, and I intend to report as much when I get back."

"Fine. They can send the military police down here for me, we'll probably need the reinforcements. Go."

Khachaturian climbed the ladder into the crew compartment and sealed the airlock behind him; Orlova raced back to the cluster of troopers by the side of the runway and watched the shuttle take off, Esposito shaking her head and grinning when the pilot rejoined them. Hunter gestured to one of the abandoned plasma rifles; Orlova grabbed it and hefted its weight, returning her pistol to her holster. With a loud bang, the main engines engaged, sending the shuttle speeding down the runway and up, curving over the mountains to put as much distance from the air defense grid as possible.

"Don't they need you back up there?" Esposito said.

"I'll take the next one. You might need another daring rescue."

Forbes shook his head again, muttering something under his breath, then turned to Hunter. "Come on, this way. It's a long walk."

"Aren't they always?" Riley said.

Chapter 12

A pair of stretchers, attended by espatiers, were standing back in the shuttle bay; alarms sounded as the elevator airlock engaged, bringing the
shuttle
up to deck level. Before it had even finished rising, Doctor Duquesne was rushing to the passenger lock, slamming her fist down on the emergency release; Marshall was right behind her, gagging at the smell of charred flesh and blood that erupted from the inside.

Private Floyd was holding a fluid bag over Flanagan; a uniform jacket had been gently placed over Wolfe's head during the flight up, and at a look from the captain, Floyd shook his head, looking down at the deck. A pair of espatiers loaded Flanagan onto a stretcher, pushing it down the corridor as Duquesne looked at the gravely wounded trooper.

"Do your best, Doc," Floyd said, turning to face Marshall as the stretcher slid gently into the elevator.

"Wolfe?" Marshall said.

The private hesitated, "He died before we'd
got out of
the atmosphere. Wounds were
just
too bad. I'm sorry, sir."

"You did everything you could, and he died in the line of duty. There are worse ways to go. Where's everyone else?"

The crew airlock opened, and
Khachaturian scrambled out onto the deck, snapping a salute. "That mad woman stayed behind on Ragnarok, Captain. You should have seen her, I've got a list of flight safety violations a mile long!"

Ignoring the ranting sensor technician, Marshall looked at the medic, who nodded, "Ensign Esposito and the rest of the squad stayed on the surface. We'd made contact with a group that appear to be engaged in a conflict with the Ragnarok government, and she believed that it was the best way of obtaining the information we need."

"Any instructions for a pick-up?"

"I did not receive any, sir. Certainly the runway we landed at cannot be risked again, it was obviously a trap."

"What about Orlova? She needs to have her flight rating stripped immediately," Khachaturian said.

"Spaceman?" Marshall said, "Shut up. Go file your report, I'll see that receives all the attention it deserves."

Khachaturian saluted again, then made his way over to a nearby terminal; no doubt he'd be receiving a more politely worded series of complaints by the time he returned to his office.

"Request permission to return to surface, sir. If Khachaturian won't go, I am prepared to take a risk with the shuttle's autopilot," Floyd said.

Corporal Stiles, who with Esposito and Hunter on the planet was now the commander of the ship's espatier force, walked over to the medic, clapping him on the back. "Second and Third Squads are ready, willing and able to join First Squad on the surface, sir."

"Request denied." The captain looked at the two men. "I appreciate the gesture, but at this point I can't take the risk of deploying through a potentially lethal defense grid. Besides, I'm likely going to need you for other duties on Alamo. Stiles?"

The Corporal stood to attention, "Sir?"

"Any good field engineers in your squad?"

He nodded, "Yes, sir. Lance-Corporal Candero is the platoon's best tinkerer."

"I want the two of you suited up for a trip out to one of those orbiting satellite. If they're going to give us problems, I think it is time for us to give them some. Have Candero take a look at some schematics, and tell him I want him to make the biggest mess he can on my instructions."

"Aye, aye, sir!" Stiles' face lit up as he made his way down the corridor. Marshall pulled out a communicator, calling the bridge.

"Cellini here, sir," the voice of the beta shift watch officer replied.

"Change our orbital track, Sub-Lieutenant. I want us within a quarter-mile of one of the satellites, as fast as possible."

"Aye, Captain. Implementing now."

"Good. I'll be up in a minute."

He walked into the now-clear elevator, tapping the button for the bridge, leaning up against the wall. The doors opened two levels down, and Dietz strode in, his hands clasped behind his back, nodding curtly at the captain as he tapped for the bridge.

"I have been reviewing the reports of the shuttle team, Captain. It seems to present something of a problem."

"You are a master of understatement, Mr. Dietz."

The ship began to gently vibrate, the gravity changing slightly. "We are changing course, sir?"

"I intend to intercept one of those satellites if the planetary government fails to respond. Time to take off the gloves, Lieutenant, when they start launching unprovoked attacks on our people."

Dietz nodded. "I was on my way to report to you that the missiles are ready for launch. Engineer Quinn and I have given them a final inspection, and they should complete the mission as directed."

"Excellent."

The doors slid open onto the bridge; Cellini stood to attention, calling out, "Captain on the bridge."

"As you were, Sub-Lieutenant. Mr. Dietz, you may launch our modified missiles when ready."

Marshall walked over to the captain's chair, looking briefly around the bridge before settling down, his gaze fixed on Ragnarok slowly revolving below. Dietz hunched over the Tactical station, then looked up.

"Ready to fire, sir."

"Fire."

One after another, the missiles fired out of the forward launch tube, racing away from the moon on their prearranged course behind Ragnarok. Marshall tracked their departure with satisfaction for a brief second, then frowned as first one, then the second winked out.

"Sensors, verify missile track."

The sensor technician hunched over his console, adjusting controls and shaking his head, "The missiles are still there, sir, and they managed to get to escape velocity, but it looks like both their engines died shortly afterward. I can't get any telemetry from the missiles, but visually nothing else seems to be wrong.