Ep.#4 - Freedom's Dawn (The Frontiers Saga), page 19
Marcus looked at him. “You know, I never thought to ask.”
“Seems like it would be a good thing to know.” He looked at his gun again. “What do you think? Fifty? A hundred?”
“Probably more like two hundred,” Marcus guessed. “What good would it be with only a hundred bullets?”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Loki flipped off the safety. Marcus immediately became nervous.
“You might want to leave the safety on, kiddo.”
Loki held the gun out in front of him, sighting down the barrel. “Relax. I’m just getting a feel for it,” he said as the came around the corner.
Loki found himself looking down his barrel at six heavily armed men in flat black assault gear, all crouched down as they walked forward briskly, their weapons up and ready.
“Oh shit,” Loki exclaimed. He instinctively pulled the trigger on his gun. It fired, flame spitting out the end of the barrel as the gun kicked up and back. The bullet landed squarely in the neck of one of the nobles, sending a large chunk of flesh and blood flying. The wounded man’s first reflex was to reach for the searing pain in his neck as his body spun around from the force of the bullet’s impact, causing him to lose his balance and fall against the men behind him.
Marcus raised his own weapon, a close-quarters automatic weapon given to him by Enrique. He pulled the trigger and held it for a moment, sending at least a dozen rounds toward the enemy. Another noble was hit in the leg, also sending him down but not killing him. “Take cover, kid!” he yelled as he fired again.
Loki quickly fell to his left, tucking in behind an upright support against the wall. It wasn’t much cover, but it was all that was available. Marcus, on the other hand, was safely tucked behind the corner of the corridor on the opposite side from Loki.
“Well, shoot some more, kid!” Marcus ordered.
Loki held his gun out without looking and repeatedly pulled the trigger. Another twenty rounds flew down the hallway, ricocheting off the bulkheads and not striking any of the intended targets. Once Loki’s magazine was empty, the slide on the gun locked open. “What the hell?!” he cried out as energy blasts struck the upright he was hiding behind. “It’s broken!”
“It ain’t broke, you idiot! It’s outta bullets!”
“That wasn’t two hundred bullets! Hell, that wasn’t even a hundred!”
“Yeah, your gun sucks!” Marcus bellowed as he brought his gun around the corner and opened up. “Run for it, kid!”
As Marcus sprayed bullets down the corridor from side to side, Loki ran from behind his cover and headed back the way they had come as fast as his feet would carry him.
“DIE YOU FUCKERS!” Marcus yelled as he gleefully continued firing. Then his gun stopped firing. He looked down at his weapon and saw that the breach was locked in the open position, and nothing happened when he pressed his trigger. “Uh oh.”
Loki continued running around the next corner. As he rounded the corner, he looked back over his shoulder. The sound of Marcus’s gun had stopped. It was quickly replaced by the sound of energy weapons fire and Marcus screaming at the top of his lungs as he came running around the corner behind him.
“THESE GUNS SUCK!” Marcus yelled as he came around the corner, energy blasts slamming the bulkheads behind him.
They continued to run as fast as they could, rounding the next corner into an even longer corridor. As they continued to run, Marcus realized that they would never make it to the end of the corridor. The enemy troops chasing them were about to come around the corner behind them and would have a clear shot. “Wait!” he called out to Loki as he stopped running. “Down the ladder!”
“What?” Loki asked in confusion as he too came to a sudden stop.
“We’ll never make it down this corridor! Just do it, kid!” he ordered as he grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him toward the ladder. “GO!”
Loki quickly climbed down the ladder. Marcus followed, but before his body had passed the floor level, the enemy troops came running around the corner and saw him, opening fire. Marcus fell the rest of the way down, landing unceremoniously on the deck below. “Keep going!” he yelled as he got back to his feet. “They’re right on our ass!”
They continued running for a full minute before Marcus realized something was wrong. He slowed down, eventually coming to a stop. He turned around and looked behind him, intently staring down the corridor and listening.
Loki noticed that Marcus had stopped and ceased running himself. “What are you doing?”
Marcus waved his hand at Loki, motioning for him to keep his voice down. After a few moments, he turned back to Loki, a surprised look on his face. “They’re not behind us anymore.”
“Are you sure?” Loki was equally surprised.
Marcus shrugged. “Maybe they ain’t after us.” he realized.
“Where do you think they’re headed?” Loki wondered.
“If they’re after the ship, they’ll head for the bridge for sure. If they’re after the crew, they’ll be going to the cargo bays and the brig. But if they head for engineering—” Marcus paused in mid sentence.
“What?” Loki asked. “What does it mean if they head for engineering?”
“My guess would be that they’ll overload the reactors and blow up the ship.”
“But they were headed forward, toward the bridge, right?”
“The ones we met, sure.” Marcus took in a deep breath. “Either way, we need to get back to the brig and warn the others.” He took off on a jog again. “Come on.”
* * *
Ensign Mendez and Sergeant Weatherly quickly turned toward the hatch as they heard someone approaching at a dead run. If it was an enemy, they weren’t trying to be stealthy. A moment later, Marcus and Loki stumbled through the hatchway into the brig’s main foyer where Mendez and Weatherly were waiting with Ensign Willard from the Yamaro’s crew. Enrique stared at them, expecting an answer as to why they had returned so quickly.
Marcus looked up at him, trying to catch his breath. “Problem,” was all he could get out.
“They’re here,” Loki announced, not being as winded as the older and heavier Marcus.
“Who’s here? Takarans?” Enrique asked.
“I don’t know,” Loki said. “I didn’t ask.”
“They weren’t……dressed like……Takarans,” Marcus added. “Dressed in black……from head to toe……wearing soft armor……no markings.”
“That sounds like the Corinari,” Ensign Willard told Enrique.
“Who the hell are the Corinari?” Enrique asked.
“Specially trained divisions, highly skilled combatants. When Corinair surrendered to the Ta’Akar decades ago, they had to give up most of their advanced weaponry. To make up for this, they created a special branch of the military called the Corinari. They are highly trained and very dedicated. The skills make them more effective while having to use less advanced weapons and technology.”
“Why would the Corinari attack us?” Enrique wondered. “We just saved their butts, didn’t we?”
“Maybe they, too, have lost contact with us. If they believed this ship had somehow fallen into the wrong hands, they might try to retake it.”
“So we might be exchanging fire with friendlies?”
“It is possible,” Ensign Willard admitted, “but I do not believe it is the case. The Corinari would’ve identified themselves when they saw two civilians. They would not have fired indiscriminately either. They shoot with pinpoint accuracy. If these two had indeed exchanged gunfire with the Corinari, they would not be alive to speak of it.” Willard turned to Marcus and Loki. “No offense intended.”
“Okay, so we’re back to Takarans.” Enrique turned to Marcus and Loki. “How many of them were there, and which way were they headed?”
“At least a dozen,” Loki exclaimed.
Marcus turned and looked at Loki funny. “There were six,” he corrected. “And we killed two of them.”
“Oh God, I’m pretty sure I killed one,” Loki admitted.
“Don’t brag, kid,” Marcus interrupted. “You fired at least twenty times and only hit one of them.”
“Yeah, well…” Loki turned to Enrique, his expression turning sour. “Hey, what’s up with these guns having so few bullets?”
“Sorry about that,” Enrique apologized, “I guess I should’ve warned you about that.” He looked at Marcus, noticing that he was unarmed. “Where’s the gun I gave you? It had a lot more than twenty rounds in it.”
“Uh, I must’ve dropped it,” Marcus admitted sheepishly. “It was outta bullets anyway.”
Enrique pulled a pair of full magazines out of his combat vest pocket and held them up for Marcus to see, a sneer on his face.
“Oh, sorry,” Marcus apologized.
“My fault,” Enrique admitted. “I should've given you the extra magazines.” He turned to Sergeant Weatherly, handing the magazines over for the sergeant to use in his own weapon. “Any idea where they were heading?”
“Forward, for sure,” Marcus told him. “I figure they’re headed for the bridge, seeing as how they didn’t follow us when we went down a level.”
“Are you sure they just didn’t see you go down a level?” Enrique challenged.
“I’m sure. One of them looked right at me when I was about halfway down the ladder. Made eye contact with him I did, right be for he opened up on me.”
“Is that where you got this?” Enrique asked, reaching out and sticking his finger in a hole burnt through the shoulder of Marcus's jacket.
Marcus looked at the hole. “Damn, this is my favorite coat, too.”
“We should assume there are two teams,” Enrique began theorizing aloud. “One headed to the bridge, the other to engineering. Those are the two spots you need to capture if you want to seize control of a ship.”
“Not necessarily,” Willard disagreed, “at least not in the case of the Yamaro. She is of a newer design—extremely automated. She can be easily controlled from the bridge with only a few men.”
“But what about life support, power generation, propulsion—”
“There are no dedicated interfaces for any of those systems anywhere other than on the bridge. The only time anyone goes to engineering is to make repairs or perform routine maintenance. And then they use portable consoles that they simply plug into any number of interface ports.”
“If we had one of those portable consoles, could we take control from another location?” Enrique asked.
“No, you could not. Bridge consoles always take priority over portables.”
Enrique thought for a moment. “Okay, so there are at least four of them headed for the bridge. We have to assume that there is more than one team, maybe even several. And there’s gotta be at least a few guys guarding whatever ship they used to come on board. So they’re probably down in the hangar bay right now as well. If we got a look at the size of their transport ship, that might give us an indication of how many combatants we’re dealing with.”
“There isn’t time for all that,” Willard insisted. “They will reach the bridge in minutes. They may be there already.”
“We locked up the bridge once we powered everything down,” Sergeant Weatherly reminded Enrique.
“That will only slow them down five or ten minutes at best,” Ensign Willard insisted. “Given time, they will gain entry. And once they do, there will be no stopping them. They can simply vent the rest of the ship into space and be done with us.”
“Jeez, this is not good,” Enrique said. “There are only the two of us, and all we’ve got is a few hundred rounds between your weapon and my handgun.”
“We’ve still got two more guys down guarding the prisoners in the cargo bay,” Weatherly pointed out.
“It’ll take too long to retrieve them. I’m afraid it’s just the two of us, Sarge.”
“Make that the three of us,” Ensign Willard interjected.
Enrique looked at him for a moment. “You sure?”
“You will need my expertise with the systems on this ship,” Willard told him.
“Add us and that makes five,” Loki added.
“No. I need you two to go meet up with the two guards, then go and secure our shuttle. If we fail to stop them, we’re going to need a way off this bucket and fast,” Enrique explained. “Besides, three on four isn’t too bad.”
“How about four?” a voice came from one of the cells.
They all turned and looked in the direction of the cells.
“Five,” another voice sounded. Then another called out, “Six.” Then, “Seven.” Then, “Eight.”
Enrique walked over to the row of cells looking at the five men that had stepped forward. As he moved closer all the men in the cells stood and came forward, as if indicating that they too would volunteer to fight. “Why would you guys want to fight?”
“None of us are Takaran,” number Five stated, “and none of us wish to suffocate in here when the Takarans take the bridge and rob us of air.”
Enrique looked long and hard at the men. They were all young and strong, and he had no doubt that at some point the Takarans would have given them at least some basic combat training. Still, Enrique was unsure. He turned and looked at Ensign Willard, who he had grown to trust over the last hour.
“They were all forced to serve, just as I was,” Willard stated. “A few of them are of Corinair as well, just like I am.”
“We’re still gonna need guns,” Weatherly pointed out.
“I am an armory technician,” number Six offered. “I can get us into the armory down the corridor. We will have all the weapons we need.”
Enrique looked back at Willard, the doubt on his face subsiding. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a few fire teams, Sergeant.” Enrique smiled at Ensign Willard. “Let ’em out.”
Chapter Seven
The main operations room at the Aitkenna Disaster Management Command Center was buzzing with activity as various technicians, specialists, and command personnel dealt with a myriad of problems afflicting the capital city that night, as well as the entire nation of Hakai.
Nathan and the others had been retrieved from the conference room where they had been waiting for what had seemed like an eternity after the Prime Minister had been suddenly whisked away by his aides. In order to reach this room, they had traveled through a maze of corridors as well as descended several levels. As best they could tell, by now they had to be several levels below the surface at the least.
They were led through a doorway that opened onto the mezzanine level overlooking the main operations center. Below, there were three large display screens, each reaching from waist high to the ceiling, more than two floors, and were at least twice as wide as they were high. While the center display showed whatever video feed was the most critical at the moment, the massive displays on either side showed maps: one of the nation of Hakai, the other of its capital, the city of Aitkenna. Each map was littered with color coded dots. Most of them were a combination of dots: brown, orange, and red. The red dots sat mostly at the center of the larger orange ones, which in turn sat somewhat near the center of the still larger brown ones. The dots overlaid on the map of Aitkenna were much larger than the ones overlaid on the map of Hakai.
As they walked over to one side of the mezzanine, Nathan could see the rows of consoles and the workers manning them on the ground level below. In addition, there were numerous additional workers, possibly higher ranking personnel than the operators, moving furiously back and forth as they checked on the subordinates they were responsible for overseeing.
The mezzanine level was similar in layout, but with only a single row of four consoles and their operators, along with one control officer. The Prime Minister stood behind the technicians at their consoles instead of being seated in the row of overstuffed chairs arranged on a small raised platform behind them. The platform reminded Nathan of the command platform back on the bridge of the Aurora, where both his command chair and the tactical station were situated.
“Those must be where the bombs hit,” Jessica said, nodding toward the map of Aitkenna.
“What, the red dots?” Nathan asked. “What are the orange and brown ones, fallout?”
“My guess, red for impact, orange for blast radius, and brown… fallout maybe? Or shock wave damage?”
The Prime Minister was obviously very upset at something that one of his aides was telling him. There was a lot of shouting going on, and Nathan got the impression that something wasn’t going as expected. He noticed that Tug and Jalea were both listening intently to the exchange between the Prime Minister and his aides.
“What’s going on?” Nathan asked. “What’s he so pissed about?”
“It seems that several of their missile bases are no longer under their control,” Tug explained. “The Prime Minister is demanding to know how missile bases could be so easily compromised.”
“A good question,” Jessica said, a mixture of sarcasm and accusation in her tone.
Another demand from the Prime Minister resulted in video footage being displayed on the main center display screen. The image was the view from a security camera at one of the missile installations.
“What is that?” Nathan asked Tug.
“I believe it is from one of the missile bases.”
The image showed the brightly lit main gate of the facility. There was a sudden flash of blue-white light near one of the gun turrets, after which the image went dark. A few moments later the camera view switched to night vision, showing surrealistic green-hued images. A vehicle suddenly burst through the main gate, exploded a few seconds later, and caused the view from the camera to switch off.
“Whoa,” Jessica muttered. “Nothing subtle about that.”
“Why did everything just turn off?” Nathan asked. “The lights I mean…”
“I do not know,” Tug said, contemplating the cause.
The view was replaced by a feed from another camera. The image also showed the main gate, or where the main gate had once been. Now it was only a black shallow crater covered with puddles of melted fencing and debris, much of which was still burning. At least a dozen men came charging into view in a loose unorganized fashion. They were obviously civilians, evidenced by their clothing and mixed assortment of weapons, as well as the chaotic method in which they fought. Their numbers and their fire power, however, were obviously enough to overwhelm the guards who had been depending on the automated turrets to protect them against such an attack. The bolts of energy danced back and forth between the two sides, with the majority of the fire coming from the civilian attackers. The firefight was over in less than a minute, and the civilians disappeared into the buildings of the missile complex.
