Stolen Earth, page 29
With Bishop’s warning and One’s addendum, they were, in effect, waiting in ambush. There would be no attempt at parlay, no calls for the enemy to drop their weapons. A superior force was moving in on them and they had a couple of platoons’ worth of non-combatants to keep safe. The strictest rules of engagement under which he’d ever operated would still allow for the good guys to open fire first in that situation. It didn’t sit particularly well with him, but that was the mission. And it helped that the alternative—letting the bad guys shoot first—was just plain stupid.
He glanced toward the prison barracks in time to see Morales emerge. She was followed by a long line of people, moving quickly and keeping as much in cover as they could. Not that it would do them much good if the enemy emerged and opened fire, but one truism of combat was that when presented with two targets, you tended to shoot toward those who were shooting at you, and not toward those who were fleeing for safety.
“Ten seconds until contact,” Bishop said over the comm. “Not sure if this thing will penetrate the dome, but I can try.”
“Negative,” Gray replied. “We’ll deal with it. Keep your eyes open for unknown threats. If anyone tries to intercept the escape, then we can test out the strength of the dome.”
He didn’t have time for more as, at that moment, the first of the enemy emerged from an alleyway between two buildings. He wore a navy-style ship suit not unlike Gray’s own, though this one was mottled gray instead of space black. He carried a stubby submachine gun at the high ready and had his head on a swivel as he emerged. The tactically sound thing for the Arcus crew to do would have been to allow more of them to emerge, to let them get into the open and walk deeper into the killbox. The risk that they—if unengaged—would react to the fleeing prisoners with a hail of gunfire was too great. Federov, kneeling in such a way that he was effectively sitting on his trailing foot while resting his elbow on his lead knee for a more stable shooting position took the shot as soon as the enemy emerged.
The crack of the super-sonic round cut through the sound of the sirens. Even through the auto-dampening features of the helmet, the noise was almost painful. And Federov didn’t fire a single shot. He engaged the target in the way that police forces, militaries, and self-defense doctrine had dictated for centuries: you kept up the assault until you knew the target was no longer a threat. The rifle barked five or six times before the first member of the off-worlder response force dropped to the ground.
The answering fire from the rest of the force was immediate. Projectiles began to slam into the buildings around them as the response force laid down suppressing fire in the general direction from which the assault had originated. Federov had already dropped prone, and Gray followed suit. The position made movement difficult, but all the rounds from the enemy were now passing well overhead. A constant rain of pulverized composite fell upon him.
“What’s the situation, Bishop?” he asked into his comm.
“Prisoners are out and moving, Cap. Still potentially in the line of fire, but they’re running. A few minutes until they’re at the airlock.” There was a pause. “Shit. Bad guys are starting to leapfrog forward.”
“Great,” Gray muttered. It was a simple, but effective tactic. Some members of the team kept up the weight of fire while the others advanced, trusting in the suppressive fire to keep the enemies’ heads down. Then the more forward troops would lay down fire, allowing the rear troops to advance. It ought to keep Gray and Federov out of action, but if they couldn’t return fire then the enemy troops would be free to turn their attention to the escaping prisoners.
“All right, Bishop,” he said into the comm. “We’re going to have to risk a little intervention.”
“Okay, Cap.” The mechanic didn’t sound happy about it, but it wasn’t half a second later before another muffled crack rang out. It sounded different than the submachine guns, louder and more sonorous, though still somehow distant. There was no immediate effect upon their assailants, but several more shots rang out in measured succession. It was somewhere around the tenth or eleventh report—Gray had lost count—that cries of alarm began to sound among the response force.
“Managed to punch a hole, Cap. If you’re going to do something, now’s a good time.” The mechanic spoke in hurried voice and the rifle sounded again. Gray could hear shouts of panic from the response force and the fire in their direction slackened.
“Now, Federov,” he said.
They hadn’t set a specific plan in place for this occurrence, but they both knew the mission and they’d been working together long enough to react as a team. As the fire dropped off, Gray and Federov both popped to their feet. It was a risky move, but there were no good options and doing nothing was sure to get them and their charges killed. As he gained his feet, Gray brought his rifle up, finding the sight picture and taking in the enemy.
The enemy had been confident that the danger was pinned down. As they’d advanced, the leaders had been caught in the open. At least one appeared to be down, dropped by Bishop’s fire. The rest were moving and shooting but didn’t seem to be communicating effectively. Sporadic fire still came in Gray and Federov’s direction, but it was unfocused, undirected. Two of the response force were firing in the general direction of the dome, but without any real knowledge of their target. Those two were the biggest threat to the extraction effort, but Gray also knew that if he and Federov were put out of action, the rest would be free to deal with Morales and her charges.
He took in the situation at a glance and turned his weapon to the nearest person shooting in his direction. There was an infinite and near-simultaneous moment when the target and Gray became aware of one another. The green dot of his own sight settled on the enemy, landing in the center of the triangle formed by shoulders and forehead. He pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession, riding the recoil. The first round slammed home in the target’s upper chest. The second missed as the combined motion of the recoil and soldier’s reaction changed the firing solution. But the third round punched right through the target’s visor. The man spasmed and lay still.
Federov dropped a second while Gray dealt with his target. Between the first enemy Federov had silenced and the target Bishop had hit, that was four down. Three were still up: one who had been trying to keep them suppressed and two that hand been firing in Bishop’s general direction. Another crack sounded from Bishop’s rifle, and one of those firing blindly in his direction fell.
From there, it took only heartbeats. Gray put three rounds in rapid succession into a man trying desperately to bring his weapon to bear but confused between the fire coming from three different places. Federov let loose with a mid-length burst that stitched the enemy trying to deal with Bishop’s sniper fire. After what seemed like hours, the sounds of the firefight stilled. The night was far from silent; alarms blared, screams and calls for help could be heard, and the sound of Gray’s own breath and beating heart reverberated within the space of his helmet. But the shooting, at least, had stopped.
“Sitrep?” Gray asked into the comm.
“Looks clear, Cap,” Bishop came back. “Morales and the prisoners are closing on the airlock. I don’t have visual on any of the bad guys.”
“One?” Gray asked.
“Overhead surveillance does not indicate any troop movements to your position. However, I am getting high heat signatures from the compound designated as a hangar. I believe you can upgrade your assessment of the location of the off-world ship from possible to probable. The readings are consistent with the engines of a Barque-class freighter.”
“Nothing we can do about that. We don’t have the hardware to fight a ship. We need to get under cover before that thing gets off the ground or we’re all fucked. We’ll figure it out from there.”
They caught up to the tail-end of the detainees in short order. The prisoners had bottlenecked at the airlock and were making their way through as quickly as possible. Federov and Gray immediately turned, putting their backs to the prisoners and scanning the compound before them. An attack in the next few seconds would be the worst-case scenario as there was little cover and the tightly packed bodies would mean that every round was likely to find a home in flesh. Morales—who had been standing to one side urging the escaped prisoners onward, dropped back and joined them.
“You still got us, Bishop?” Gray asked, nodding to Morales as she slotted into position.
“Still clear,” Bishop confirmed.
“Another patrol is moving into position,” One added. “Three blocks from the airlock. They are using the buildings for cover to block the sight lines from Mr. Bishop. At their current rate of travel, they’ll be in position in under one minute.”
Gray looked over his shoulder. They were down to just a handful of prisoners. “We’ll be gone by then. Time to start falling back.”
They moved in concert, keeping their weapons trained downrange. Once the last of the prisoners slipped through the airlock, they took their turns edging through into the open air beyond. Morales first, sprinting to resume her position at the front of the crowd of frightened people while simultaneously cajoling them to move faster now that they were out in the open. Gray slipped through the door on Morales’ heels; as he did so, he heard Federov open fire once more, the reports of his rifle punctuated by the somewhat louder sounds of Bishop’s fire. Federov maintained fire as he backed through the door and as soon as he was through, Gray punched in the commands to cycle the lock. The door shut.
“That’s only going to buy us a few minutes,” he said.
Federov nodded. “We stick to the plan, Captain. We keep these people moving.” Even as he spoke, the sound of impacts rang against the composite of the dome. Gray nodded. The bulk of the prisoners had crossed the field and reached the strange cylinder where Gray could just make out the form of Bishop shimmying down the side of the machine. He and Federov took off at something close to a sprint, trusting now in speed, darkness, and the delay that the locked dome would cause to keep them safe. There was a new sound joining the general din, though, one that Gray couldn’t help but recognize. The throaty roar of thrusters reaching takeoff forces.
This had been the largest single flaw in the plan. They knew the enemy had a ship. They knew its general class. But Barques could be outfitted any number of ways, from a simple, unarmed light transport all the way up to a pretty damn effective gunship. If the vessel was armed, there wasn’t a lot they could do about it except try to reach overhead cover and hope the off-worlders wouldn’t be too persistent.
Gray wasn’t very hopeful of that particular scenario.
The escaped prisoners were accustomed to a hard existence on Old Earth and much more used to travelling over the rolling terrain than the crew of the Arcus. On top of that, they were all blessed with the strength and agility of youth. Despite his best efforts, Gray, burdened with rifle, ammo, armor, and sidearm found himself flagging. The others had made it to the gulley, but rather than turning down it, Morales had wisely continued forward, guiding the prisoners the extra hundred meters or so toward the treeline that would offer some protection from aerial surveillance.
As he panted for breath and cursed every ounce of equipment he carried, Gray threw a look back over his shoulder. The dome, lit bright orange against the backdrop of the night sky, was a coruscating ball, a sunset captured in a frozen moment in time. It would have been beautiful, if Gray hadn’t seen it a thousand times before and known it to be caused by the reflection and diffusion of the light cast off by powerful thrusters. His steps slowed as the Barque-class freighter, which must have taxied from its hangar to a point outside the dome, rose above its height. The thrusters tilted, and the craft shot forward, heading straight toward the fleeing crowd of terrified escapees.
Gray felt a sense of helplessness wash over him. Even at this distance, he could see the weapons blisters dotting the hull. If they could reach the Arcus they might have a chance. But his ship was still a long way away and the enemy vessel was already clearing the dome and accelerating toward them. There was no way to reach the ship before the Barque could bring its weapons to bear.
Gray slowed and he raised his rifle toward the ship. Beside him, Federov was doing the same. It was the definition of an exercise in futility. There was a maybe one in a million chance of hitting something important enough to actually damage the vessel in any kind of meaningful way. But the alternative was to die with his back to the ship and fear in his heart.
The world went white.
Something flashed down from the sky, a bar of fire so brilliant that even through the ship suit visor Gray couldn’t peg a color to it. It was too bright to see, and he blinked rapidly to clear the incandescent afterimage. It stayed in his vision and Gray had only an instant to fear that it would be permanent. Then, a blast wave of superheated air slammed into him, slapping him in a full-body assault that lifted him from his feet and hurled him ten meters from the spot in which he’d been standing.
He was aware he was blinking of his eyes rapidly; the world around him was blurry and simultaneously over-exposed. His body was still trying to operate, and without any real conscious thought on his part, he realized that he had somehow gone from lying flat on the ground to a sort of half-shuffle, half-crawl, moving toward a still form on the ground that could only be Federov.
Moving toward Federov. Moving away from… what?
The present came crashing back and he managed to twist his screaming body to look behind him.
Just in time to see the burning wreckage of the Barque plow into the field.
On instinct, Gray pressed himself flat into the earth, willing his body to become one with the soil. His arms responded sluggishly, but he was able to bring them up to his head, shielding it as best he could. Even as he did, the debris started to rain down upon him. He squeezed his eyes shut and did the only thing he could: prayed to whatever god might be listening that he would weather the storm that was about to befall him.
It didn’t last long. As he pressed his body to the earth, he was showered with debris. The armor of his ship suit blunted the worst of it, but the impacts hit with enough force that he knew the bruises would be rising later. He turned his head toward where he had last seen Federov, hoping that the man had survived the chaos. The mercenary was struggling to push himself to his feet. Small favors. Some part of Gray was acutely aware that, downed vessel or not, there was still a group of armed bad guys at the dome who might yet pursue them.
That thought made him remember the fact that he, too, was armed. He had lain on top of his rifle, intentionally putting his body between the weapon and the chaos since it might prove his last line of defense. As he managed to move into a half-sitting, half-kneeling position, he went to work ensuring that the barrel was clear and the weapon ready to be employed if needed. Satisfied, he kept it pointing downrange as he unceremoniously scooted on his ass over to Federov.
“You okay, buddy?” he asked.
“I’ll live,” Federov grunted as he, too, managed to roll over and pointed his weapon in the general direction of the dome. A pained expression shot across his face. “Probably.”
At the tone in his voice, Gray tried once more to force the shock away and focus. The wreckage of the freighter littered the field before them. And around them. He looked over his shoulder, toward the treeline. And behind them. It was little short of a miracle that the two had escaped unscathed. He hoped all the freed prisoners and his team had reached the cover of the trees before the debris had started to fall. Some parts of the wreckage still glowed white-hot, evidence of the rapid heat-bleed from a high-powered laser strike. But no one on planet could possibly have lasers; the power draws required to generate the coherent beams and maintain them through the atmosphere to deliver enough energy to do what had been done to that spacecraft were astronomical.
“Cap?”
His comm crackled to life. The signal was broken, static in a way he’d seldom heard in space, but he could recognize Bishop’s voice. “You still with us?” There was an undercurrent in his voice, part fear, part awe, part something else.
“We’re here, Bishop,” he said.
“You need help?”
Gray looked over at Federov, who grunted and shook his head. With an effort that seemed more raw determination and willpower than anything, he forced himself to his feet. Gray groaned audibly and followed suit. He wobbled for a moment, but his legs finally steadied beneath him. “Negative. Keep everyone moving to the Arcus. We still might face pursuit.” As he looked at the wreckage, he doubted it, but better to err on the side of caution. “Did we get everyone out?”
“Yeah, we made it to the trees with everyone before the sky fell in. Couple of scrapes and bruises is the worst of it here. What the hell happened, Lynch?” Morales cut in.
“No idea. The enemy ship is down. We’re still alive.” He staggered as another wave of pain hit him. “Mostly. Right now, that’s all we need to know.”
“Perhaps I could provide some illumination,” One said in Gray’s ear.
“Great,” Gray muttered. “Yeah. Do that.” He tapped Federov on the shoulder and the two began making their stumbling journey across the debris field.
“Of course, Captain. First, I should inform you that you need not worry about pursuit. The SolComm station has been informed that any such efforts will result in harsh repercussions.”
