War To The Knife (30 page)

March 31st 2850 GSC, 10:00 – In Orbit

SPACE STATION

The two fake Security Service guards crouched over the sentries they’d just killed, one on either side of the double doors leading to the Orbital Control Center. They watched Dave as he ran down the passage towards them. He shook his head and raised his voice. “Don’t just stand there!
Get inside and stop them warning anyone else!”

They sprang to the doors, opened them and dashed through, renewed popping sounds coming from their silenced pulsers. Dave reached the doors a second later, the butt of his rifle braced against his spacesuit as he entered OrbCon, trying to remember the layout Mac had drawn for them. It looked as if the Bactrians had kept everything as it had been before they invaded. A man was reeling back behind the Watch Commander’s elevated station, hands to his face, blood spurting from his mouth. As he collapsed out of sight behind the console, Dave turned to his right and began firing at three panic-stricken operators trying to reach a side door. Within seconds he was joined in the room by other members of his team.

There were only six operators on duty, and none stayed on their feet long enough to transmit a warning message to the nearby warships or the planet below. As the last of them collapsed Dave yelled, “CEASE FIRE!
Cease fire!
Don’t hit the equipment! We need it!” He shook his head to clear his ears of the ringing caused by the concussion of repeated shots in so confined a space. Even though an electromagnetic firing mechanism accelerated the projectiles rather than chemical explosives, the
crack!
as they broke the sound barrier was very loud. From further down the passage he could hear more gunfire and a couple of explosions – caused, he knew, by the other groups taking care of off-duty personnel and anyone working in Administration or Engineering.

“Mac!” he called.

“Here.” The technical specialist ran into the OpCen, grimacing at the blood on the floor. “Get that body out from behind the Watch Commander’s console so I can use it.”

Two of Dave’s team dragged the Bactrian officer unceremoniously off the raised platform on which his console stood and dumped his body in the corner of the room. Others piled the bodies of the watch crew beside his as Mac seated himself, scanned the displays, and grinned. “I don’t even need to hack my way into the system. He’s logged in with full command authority – must have been a senior guy. I can do everything from here.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dave informed him waspishly. “How about getting on with it? There’s a live nuke ticking away down that corridor. I want to be long gone by the time it blows!”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” the other mock-protested, grinning.

“I left it planetside!”

As the others laughed, Mac entered a rapid sequence of commands. “There. I’ve cut off the news feed from planetside to the ships, and put up a message saying it’s only temporary and will be back in a few minutes. That should prevent any alarm from the parade reaching them, unless they tune in to planetside news transmissions. For a brief delay like this, let’s hope they don’t.”

Mac glanced at the huge Plot display on the wall and nodded, satisfied. The Satrap’s yacht was a thousand kilometers to port, with two corvettes respectively five hundred kilometers ahead of and behind her – no more than point-blank range for the space station’s defensive missiles. An armed merchant cruiser was a thousand kilometers to starboard, with LMV
Benbecula
another thousand kilometers out and two thousand behind, emphasizing her lowliness in the hierarchy of orbiting vessels. He trained a tight-beam dish on the latter vessel. “The circuit’s on the way. Take it there. Wait for the green light.” He pointed to the communications console.

“Thanks.” Dave walked over to the console, put on a headset, and waited for a green light to illuminate. When it did, he pressed the switch below it.

“This is Captain Carson of the Laredo Army calling Captain Grassby of
Benbecula,
over.”

A brief pause, then, “Grassby here, go ahead, over.”

“Carson to Grassby. I’m only going to say this once, so listen very carefully. If you’re not at immediate readiness for departure, come to that state at once and stand by. All hell’s about to break loose. Do not, I say again,
do not
attempt to leave your assigned orbit under any circumstances, even if someone orders you to do so. Ignore all such instructions. Any deviation risks attracting a missile or two, and there’s no future in that. As long as you stay where you are, you’ll be safe. Do you understand me? Over.”

“Grassby to Carson, I get it, but what the hell are you up to? Over.”

“Carson to Grassby. I’ve no time to answer questions at present. We’ll be coming aboard within an hour. Wait for our arrival. As soon as we’ve docked, head for the system boundary at full blast, in the opposite direction to that Bactrian armed merchant cruiser patrolling the system. She’s a full light hour from us at present and heading further away, so she shouldn’t pose any threat provided you keep her at a safe distance. Got it? Over.”

“Grassby to Carson, understood. Where’s Manuel?”

“Carson to Grassby, he’ll be coming aboard with us. Over.”

“Grassby to Carson, can I speak with him, please? Over.”

“Carson to Grassby, wait one.” Jake turned to Manuel, who’d entered the OpCen with Mac and was now standing against the wall, looking nauseated as he stared at the dead bodies and blood on the floor. “Manuel, he wants to talk to you.” He flipped on the console speaker as the visitor came over, and offered him a hand-held microphone as he said, “Carson to Grassby, here he is.”

“Manuel, this is Tom. What the hell’s happening? Why all the mystery? Over.”

“Manuel to Tom, I don’t know, but I’m not a military man. I suspect Captain Carson doesn’t want the Bactrians to overhear his plans. That way they can’t do anything to stop him. Over.”

“Hmpf!”
The merchant skipper’s voice was disgruntled. “I suspect he doesn’t want us to do anything to interfere either!  I can’t say I’m wildly impressed with the lack of information. Are these guys really OK, Manuel? I’m being given instructions that make no sense – in fact, they seem to me to threaten the safety of my ship and crew. Over.”

“All I can say is that he’s kept me alive and safe since I got here. He’s killed enemies in my presence, so he’s not exactly your soft cuddly type, but he’s for sure on my side. That puts him on your side too. You can trust him. Over.”

“Tom to Manuel. I’ll take your word for it, but if one of those missiles hits us, I’ll sue you when we get to hell!”

Dave had to grin as Manuel retorted, “At least there’ll be plenty of lawyers there!”

He cut in. “Carson to Grassby, no time for more now. One last thing. Stand by for a nuclear explosion and its associated electromagnetic pulses. Shut down your communications, withdraw your aerials, and activate all your protective systems for your electronics. Your hull provides Faraday cage protection, right? Over.”

“Wha – I –
are you crazy?”
The other’s voice sounded shocked and outraged.

“Carson to Grassby. No, I’m not crazy. You’re far enough away to be safe from the blast and radiation, but your electronics will be affected if you don’t take precautions. I say again, is your hull equipped with Faraday cage protection? Over.”

“I… Grassby to Carson, yes, it is, like all well-found spaceships. Over.”

“Carson to Grassby, very good. Stand by for action, and remember; stay where you are and don’t move until we get aboard! Over.” He didn’t add that it wasn’t so much the ship’s safety as their escape that he was worried about.

“Grassby to Carson, understood – but I don’t like it!”

Dave removed his headset and looked across at the Watch Commander’s console. “How’s it going, Mac?”

“I’m just locking in the last targeting instructions.” He was tapping at a keyboard as he spoke. “I told you I knew this system backwards. We’ll be ready in under two minutes.”

“Sounds good.” Dave turned to the doors as a dozen of his people trooped through them. “Any problems?”

“No, Sir,” Sergeant-Major Deacon answered for them all. “Twelve off-watch personnel, three on duty in Engineering, two in Administration. All down, Sir.”

“Excellent! We put down six in here, and we know the rest are planetside taking part in the Satrap’s parade. By the time our shuttles have finished with them, I doubt any will need a ride back up to orbit.”

~ ~ ~

The Watch Commander was dragged back to consciousness by throbbing, burning pain in his face, caused by the pulser shot that had shattered his jaw and front teeth. He tried to open what was left of his mouth to gasp for breath, but stiffened as a surge of unbearable agony speared through him. He gurgled aloud through the blood in his mouth, but the noise was covered by a sudden burst of laughter.
Laughter?
, he wondered dizzily to himself.
Who’s laughing? What –

He suddenly recalled the two Security Service men bursting through the doors and firing at him with handguns. He froze, careful to make no movement that might alert anyone looking, and opened his eyes the barest crack. Through his eyelashes he could see a spacesuited man talking to a group of similarly clad people. They were laughing at something he’d just said. He strained his eyes to look sideways at his command console. An older man was seated there, entering instructions.

He felt something sticky on the floor. All the others in the room seemed to be looking at something else, so he risked turning his head slightly, wincing at the renewed pain. He was sickened to see the bodies of his watch crew tossed carelessly into a pile, bleeding on each other, dripping onto the floor. A rivulet of blood had run across the tiles and had just reached his hand.

Fury exploded through him, overriding his pain.
Whoever you bastards are, you’re not going to take over my space station without a fight, damn you!
Stealthily, excruciatingly slowly, he began to slide his hand towards the holstered pulser at his waist – then stiffened in horror as the man at the console entered a last command, nodding in satisfaction as the computer accepted it. He looked up at another space-suited intruder and said, “Ready to proceed, Sir.”

“Weapons free, Mac.”

“Weapons free, Sir!”

The Watch Commander instantly realized what was happening.
I’ve got to stop them!
he thought desperately as he grabbed at the butt of his pulser, dragging it from his holster, aiming at the back of the man sitting in his chair.

~ ~ ~

Everyone was looking at the Plot screen, waiting for the appearance of missile traces heading for the ships nearby, anticipating the destruction to come, when the blast of a pulser echoed through OrbCon. Mac was thrown forward across the Watch Commander’s console, a cry of agony wrenched from his lips.

Dave spun around, shouldering his rifle as another shot sounded. One of the two men dressed as Security Service guards arched his back and collapsed in a heap. Before the shooter – the fallen Watch Commander, Dave suddenly realized – could fire again, he was torn apart by slugs from several rifles. He collapsed inert against the bulkhead, pulser falling from his fingers.

Dave sprang to the console.
“Mac!
Are you OK?”

The older man sagged, sliding down the console limply, trying to say something; but he couldn’t form the words. Dave caught him and eased him back into the chair. “CORPSMAN! Tamsin, where are you?”

“Here!” She ran towards him.

“How the hell do we fire these missiles?”

“I don’t know!” she said frantically, eyes scanning the multiplicity of dials, panels, indicators, switches and buttons on the console. “The display says ‘READY TO EXECUTE’ so… there!” She pointed to a red button protected beneath a flip-up clear cover. The label over it read, ‘FIRE’.

“That must be it!” Dave flipped up the cover and jammed his finger down on the button. There was a brief, agonizing pause. His brain screamed at him,
It’s not going to work! You’ve failed!
– then he gasped in relief as he felt a shudder reverberate through the space station.

~ ~ ~

The computer absorbed Mac’s instructions, passing target information through its datalinks to the station’s forty missiles. Ten were aimed at each of the two corvettes, their impacts programmed to cover the length of the ships’ relatively tiny thirty-thousand-ton hulls. The remaining twenty missiles were aimed at the armed merchant cruiser. Her half-million-ton bulk dwarfed the corvettes, but was full of a lot of empty space in the middle and lower hull in the form of cargo holds and storage compartments. Most of her critical systems were sheltered beneath her reinforced spine, so the missiles were aimed to penetrate her hull plating from the side, just below it.

As soon as the computer was satisfied that the missiles knew their targets, it released the weapons. The hundred-thousand-ton bulk of the space station began to shake as missile after missile was ejected from its tube by powerful mass drivers. Each was, in effect, a miniaturized spaceship equipped with its own gravitic drive, imparting enormous acceleration. As it cleared the field generated by the station’s drive unit it engaged its own, turned towards its target and streaked away into the blackness of space.

~ ~ ~

Dave ignored the continued vibration of missile launches as he looked down at the only medic in his team. He was kneeling beside Mac, who’d slid out of the chair onto the deck. “How is he?”

The corpsman shook his head. “Sorry, Sir. His backbone’s shot through and the round shredded his lung on the way out of his chest. He won’t make it.”

Sergeant-Major Deacon called from the floor, “James is dead, Sir.” He looked around. “Who shot that guy? Why wasn’t he shot again to make certain he was dead?” His voice was angry.

“It – it was me,” the other black-clad man mumbled, trembling, tears in his eyes as he looked at his dead partner. “I was
sure
he was dead! You could see blood all over his face!”