The Patchwork Soldier part VII
WHAM!
Somethinglike an old-fashioned freight train slammed into the Nautilus.
"What happened?" I yelled over the howling emergency claxon.
"Heavy Magcannon round, Deck 17. " Reported the Damage Control (DamCon) officer.
My worst fears had been confirmed. The Conglomerate had used our surrender offer to stab us in the back!
_ I fondled my lucky coin. _Keep it cool Fox. Just bring up the Tactical so you can find out what exactly we're up against."
_ _"Tac display, quick."
"Tac. aye."
The familiar 3-D cube appeared on the holotank. I expected to see something big, like a top-secret Conglomerate superweapon, or maybe the tell-tale signs of some new Conglomerate stealth ship.
There was nothing. Aside from a few stragglers, the battlespace was clear of Conglomerate units.
WHAM!
Another shot shook the Nautilus like a baby's rattle.
"Deck s 18-19 hit! Main Centrifuge offline!" the Damage Control officer reported dutifully.
The Nautilus groaned; her stabilizing jets could barely compensate for the excess momentum
"Helm, get us moving!"
The helm officer tapped at her thinscreen. A red text box popped into existence.
"Sir, Helm controls won't respond."
"Secondaries?"
She tapped an icon. Another red text box popped up.
"Secondary controls offline. Round musta' smashed both fiber optic leads."
This wasn't good. Without helm controls, the Nautilus was, to use the old Terran analogy, a "sitting duck". It wouldn't be long before our unseen attacker could charge up another shot.
I turned to the Tactical Officer: "Tell me the sensors have been keeping track of those shots."
"Running tracing algorithms now."
I raised a furry eyebrow. Ever since he was assigned to my flagship, that Tac officer-I'd never bothered to remember his name- had always seemed to know exactly what order I was about to give. Even when the order seemed to defy military logic, he'd carry it out before the words had even reached my mouth. The guy was either a military genius, or a closet telepath.
Maybe I should try playing a game or two of chess with him. Just to make sure.
WHAM!
The Nautilus groaned: her superstructure couldn't take much more punishment.
"Tac, those shots?"
"Working on it sir!"
The Tactical officer's fingers raced across his thinscreen. His hands blurred into a flesh-pink streak.
"Origin traced: Mare Fecuditatis, Luna."
An image of the lunar surface appeared on the holotank. The God's-eye view zoomed in on a dark patch of lunar regolith, marking the suspected target with a red pipper.
I groaned silently; figures UCAB Intel didn't uncover anything about a large magcannon emplacement on the celestial body we were a mere 500,000 kilometers from.
Well, you know what they say about Military Intelligence being an oxymoron.
"Tactical, get a targeting solution for a missile salvo. The magcannon's probably in an underground bunker: make sure to use Digger warheads."
The Tac officer's fingers ran the fastest targeting algorithm I'd ever seen. The red pipper became riddled with green dots, each one representing a predicted missile hit. "How accurate is this projection?" I asked. While the solution appeared to be about perfect, a good Belter always had to consider the error rate. Even in combat.
"Computer's giving me an error rate of about 4-5%, Sir." The Tac. Officer replied
"Good enough, fire!"
"Aye sir, missiles away."
The Tac officer tapped a "fire" icon.
There was nothing to indicate anything had happened. No "thump". No "Swish!" of igniting propellant. All that happened was a holographic moon appeared on the holotank. The missile salvo was represented by a mass of green lines, craning towards the target area like probing tentacles.
"50 seconds to impact"
A flicker of doubt crossed my mind: what if something went wrong? What if, in the time it took the missiles to reach the target area, the magcannon's operators managed to get off one last shot? I shook my canine head. Thinking such things in the middle of combat accomplished nothing. Best to focus on the task at hand.
"20 seconds to impact "
"Tac, get a camera on the target area." I wanted to see this for myself
"Aye sir."
A real-time image of the target area appeared on-holo. It seemed harmless enough: just an ancient magma plain formed a couple million years ago. A closer inspection quickly dashed that observation. There, next to a lone basaltic boulder, were the tell-tale signs of a camouflaged hatch.
A hatch that was starting to slide open.
"Twenty seconds to impact"
"C'mon, C'mon" I chanted silently, as if I could speed the missiles along by sheer willpower.
"Impact in three, two, one..."
A flurry of dust geysers erupted all over the maria. There was no flash: the digger warheads were designed to ram themselves into their target, then burrow into it and detonate. VERY effective against underground fortifications, but so far they'd only been used against targets encased in asteroidial rock. How would they fare in the soft lunar regolith?
30 seconds passed. The burrowing warheads kicked up plumes of flour-like dust. I willed the warheads to hurry up: the magcannon barrel was fully exposed.
It wouldn't be long before could get off another shot.
"Tac. Ready a..."
Before I could finish, the missiles finally detonated. The explosion was incredible: 22-some missiles, each armed with a vacuum-enhanced digger warhead, rippling the lunar surface like a flicked carpet and reducing the magcannon to rubble .
"Target neutralized" The Tac officer announced needlessly.
The bridge was silent; usually, every time we destroyed something Conglomerate-owned, the bridge would erupt in cheers, but our little victory passed without so much as a "hurray!". The bridge crew just sat at their stations, not saying anything. I couldn't say I blamed them: being bushwhacked by a heavy magcannon was a pretty stressful experience even for me.
After a minute, I decided to break the silence
"Dam. Control, report"
The Damage Control Officer snapped to full attention: "Damage reports from all over the ship. I'll put a status report on the holo."
"Can you put up a model instead?" I asked. I'd never liked status reports; I always preferred to see how badly damaged my ship was, not read about it.
"Aye sir, loading model. Putting it on Holo."
A barbell-shaped craft appeared on Holo; the Nautilus in all her inelegant splendor.
Someone let out a low whistle; we'd been hit hard: Most of the compartments on decks 18 through 19 were either severe-damage red, or a completely demolished black. The main centrifuge was dotted with little animated flames-fires ignited by ruptured reaction jet tanks. Several fiber optic trunks were dead, severed by the speeding cannon round. But what hit me the hardest was the body count: 57 dead and about 60 more wounded; casualties of a war that was already won.
A lupine rage erupted in my heart. It was time I had a little chat with the Conglomerate Commander.
"Com, open a channel with the Conglomerate HQ." I said with thinly disguised anger. "I have a few things to 'discuss'.
"With pleasure, sir" said the Comms officer, his rage even more obvious than mine. "Channel open"
I cleared my throat: "Commander what is the meaning of this?! My ship was just attacked by a concealed Magcannon. Because of your treachery, not only is she heavily damaged, but 57 members of my crew are dead!"
The channel was silent.
My emotional control failed: "IF I DON'T GET A RESPONSE IN TWO MINUTES, I WILL ORDER MY ENTIRE FLEET TO BOMBARD YOUR HEADQUARTERS." I screamed into the speaker, sounding more like an animal than I really was. "DO YOU HEAR ME?! I'LL HAVE THEM SHOOT, AND SHOOT, AND SHOOT, UNTIL ALL THAT'S LEFT OF YOU AND YOUR CORRUPT CORPORATION IS A PILE OF CHARRED RUBBLE!!!
The bridge crew stared: they'd never heard me talk like that.
The speaker crackled to life: "Admiral Fox, General Yousef here. Thank God you're alright!"
My anger turned to confusion. Usually, when someone tries to kill you, they aren't exactly relieved if you survive.
I pressed my chair's "talk" icon: "Care to explain whyyou ordered a Magcannon attack on my ship?"I asked, softening my voice a little.
"Admiral, I did not order that attack; The cannon fired itself!
The Magcannon had fired itself?
I had a hard time swallowing that. How does a 20-ton Magcannon, a weapon that requires a crew of at least 20 men, fire itself at a ship?
Besides, the Conglomerate was known for lying whenever they felt it would turn a situation in their favor. It was what they did best.
Still, something about the whole attack didn't make sense: why would the Conglomerate attack after I'd offered them a very reasonable opportunity to surrender? They were a massive collection of billion-credit corporations, not motivated by ideological means at all. Even if they HAD managed to kill me, it wouldn't affect the war's outcome at all.
I wanted answers: I pressed my chair's "talk" icon:" Explain."
"We were about to contact you when our Comm systems went dead. We were about to switch to the back up when a Magcannon bunker we didn't even know existed opened up."
General Yousef continued: "When we saw it target your ship, we tried desperately to shut it down. No use: somehow it was operating independentely of the Defense network. It's a good thing you were able to destroy it when you did. It had just targeted your ship's reactor."
I shivered; a hit there would have blown the Nautilus to shrapnel.
Someone shouted in the background. General Yousef cursed.
"What is it?"
"More bad news: someone just rerouted the entire Defense Network. Our remaining troops have just received orders to proceed to prepare for an all-out assault. All Tactical Comm channels are blocked. Wait..."
More shouting; what on Old Terra was going on down there?
After a few minutes, General Yousef finally resumed communications: "Admiral?"
"Yes General Yousef?"
"We've just received a message packet from a Security Force general. Text only, I...think you should read it."
"Why?"
"You'll understand. We're sending it to you now."
A message box appeared on the main holotank; lines of text began to scroll down it:
"To all who serve the Conglomerate:"
"Do not give in to that cowardly beast from the deepest pits of hell. I know his vile type: his "fair offer" is nothing but a cowardly ruse to deceive us; if we lay down our bloodstained swords before this inhuman, ghastly, despicable monstrosity, he will use our honest surrender as an excuse to rape, pillage, and destroy..."
The message went on for about five tedious paragraphs. It was really more of the same: a flowery, overly redundant rant about how I was the spawn of Satan and how surrendering to the UCAB would lead to the downfall of civilization. It would have been laughable if it hadn't been for the conclusion.
"Valiant brothers in arms, take up your shining swords! That foul, dishonorable beast shall not violate our honorable employer!"
May you fight with valor!
-Cmdr. Valian of Kalinor. Conglomerate Security Force, Luna Base."
I slumped back in my command chair.
"That fool" I growled, covering my face in frustration. "That stubborn, stubborn, fool..."
Like the majority of their troops, the Conglomerate brass didn't have any real loyalty to their employers. The only reason they fought was for a hefty paytransfer every standard month. Offer them better pay, and they'd gladly join your side.
Valian was the one exception
The man was...nuts. There really was no better way to describe him. According to his UCAB Intel dossier, He claimed to be from "Kalinor" a land hidden in a mighty mountain range, populated by dragons, wizards, and all sorts of wondrous beings. When asked why he'd left his "mystical" home, Valian was vague on the details, muttering something about an "unfortunate incident" that had left him "eternally banished" from his wondrous land. When he asked on his recruitment form why he was joining the Conglomerate Security Force, he'd written: "By joining this noble band of glorious warriors, I shall regain the honor that was brutally wrenched from me in fair Kalinor".
Most organizations would have rejected such an application (and probably referred the applicant to the nuthouse). The Conglomerate, having a soft spot for brownnosers, accepted it.
Despite his..."eccentric", personality, Valian was NOT someone to take lightly. What he lacked in tactical prowess (and sanity for that measure), he more than made up for in his fighting ability and sheer ferocity. He'd charge into enemy ranks, mowing them down like he was skimming algae. Once, during a small insurrection on Luna Base, he'd gone into battle armed only with his sword. When he was promoted to Commander, he applied this philosophy to his troops. He was one of the few Commanders who'd managed to get the better of me, and now he was rallying the remaining Conglomerate troops.
I was in for one hell of a fight.
I stood up in my command chair.
"Comm, get me General Yousef. Audio only"
"Aye sir."
The Command chair's speakers crackled to life.
"General Yousef, can you give me Commander Valian's coordinates?"
"I'm here General Fox. I'm piping the Commander's coordinates top you. Wish we could do more to help"
"Don't worry about it. Fox out"
I turned to the Tactical Officer
"Tac, where's the nearest available ship"
"Checking: best bet is the Catch-22, 'bout a couple hundred klicks away.
"Comm, order her to latch on to us."
"Aye Sir"
The Comm officer relayed the order. One of the green dots on the holotank started heading towards us.
_"Catch-22_on her way. ETA 10 minutes."
"Good" I turned back to the Tactical officer.
"Tac, how many of our marines survived the attack?"
"Checking..." The Tactical officer tapped his thinscreen three times. "We've got about 28 squads of marines left. The rest are either KIA or Incap."
"Once we're onboard the Catch-22, order all remaining marines to her drop pod bays."
"Aye sir"
"One last order:" I said, unbuckling my restraint belt "Tell the Armory to prep my armor suit. I'm going down there."
The Tactical Officer looked at me; a confused look on his face
"Sir...?"
"Yes?"
"I seriously..."
"...advise me to reconsider?" I finished- he wasn't the only one who could seemingly read people's minds-. "I'm afraid my mind's already made up."
"But..."
I pushed myself over to the Tactical station and placed a paw over the stunned Tac. Officer's mouth.
"I'm putting you in command of the Nautilus while I'm gone. Take good care of her.
I pushed myself towards the access hatch.
I had a battle to fight.
One hour later
If there's one thing UCAB marines hate, it's the Drop. As one nameless grunt put it:
"Imagine having you and five of your buddies being packed into an oversized ration can filled with nitrogen. All of you are in full pressure armor- it's nearly impossible to move. There are no viewports, just a tiny thinscreen giving you a rough idea of what's going on outside."
"Now imagine that your ration can is flying towards a massive chunk of nick-iron at over 900 klicks per hour. A rock covered in Connie mooks who are trying very hard to shoot you down. Your can is about as maneuverable as, well, a can, and about as well armed. You can't even lean out and take a few potshots. All you can do is hold still and hope the bigboys can vape most of the weapon emplacements before one of them gets lucky."
I couldn't have described it any better.
Was I nervous? Not really. I'd done countless numbers of drops before. Tense was more like it. While on the outside I appeared perfectly calm, my stomach was tying itself into knots.
It's not that I feared death; I'd lost my fear of the Reaper years ago. What worried me was whether or not this mission would succeed. While I'd included a Lunar assault into my plans, it'd been more of an afterthought. Just in case we needed to clear out a few stubborn Connie emplacements. I hadn't planned on a crazed Connie general taking control of the remaining troops.
What's worse was that this was the first time anyone had tried a "drop" on Luna. Until now, most combat "drops" had been on relatively small bodies; large asteroids and a few small space stations. Now, we were "dropping" on something large enough to have an actual gravity well. The engineering teams had modified the drop pods with sizable retro rockets, not too dissimilar from the ones on the ancient Apollo Landers. While the trial runs had been successful, they hadn't been tested in combat. I hoped they'd work; nothing could ruin a mission like being turned into paste on landing.
"Five minutes 'til impact" announced the pod's rudimentary computer.
"Really should have had that changed to 'landing' I muttered to myself.
A voice crackled on my helmet speakers
"Admiral Fox this is the Catch-22. We're in position; permission to deploy singleships?"
" Catch-22 this is Admiral Fox. Permission granted."
"Roger. Deploying singleships"
I accessed the pod's small camera: six ThunderStruck class singleships detached from the Catch-22. Nicknamed "Chedders" for their wedge-shaped hulls, each craft carried five "Rock Mattress" rocket pods, each containing about 20 armor-piercing rockets; an excellent craft for clearing an Impact Zone.
Something like a miniature comet collided with the pod above mine. The pod went off in a silent flash of superheated nitrogen and metal. In a second, five UCAB marines were nothing but vapor.
"Damn, Conglomerate must have reverse-engineered one of our plasma cannons."
I bit a biteswitch; my Suit's Com system crackled to life.
"Catch-22, this is Admiral Fox. Please tell me you were tracking that plasma shot"
"Affirmative. We're feeding the targeting data to the Ched's right now."
The singleships' reaction jets puffed, changing their trajectory ever-so-slightly.
"Admiral, this is Yossarian Wing Leader. TA in range. Firing in three, two, one."
Before I could so much as blink, a swarm armor-piercing rockets streaked towards the lunar surface and rammed themselves into the dusty regolith. A few seconds later, about 600 points of light lit up the Impact Zone, giving already pockmarked Luna a couple hundred new scars.
Needless to say, the plasma cannon was utterly destroyed.
"Admiral Fox, this is Wing Leader. Target destroyed, we're returning to Nest. Good hunting down there."
The Chedders oriented themselves toward the _Catch-22 _and fired their main engines.
I watched the wedge-shaped craft shrink into nothingness. Hopefully that plasma cannon was the last of Valian's nasty surprises.
I switched on my suit's Com system: "Marines, as soon as you're down, proceed to Rally Point Alpha. I'm sending the coordinates to your tacticals, now."
Green acknowledgement lights winked all over my suit's HUD.
"Impact in twenty seconds. Dispensing Cushion Foam.
Thick, frothy foam filled the Drop Pod. My fur bristled as my vulpine instincts went into overdrive.
RUNRUNFLEEDANGERDANGERDANGER!!!
I did my best to ignore them. The foam was harmless; it broke down on exposure to vacuum or oxygen, and without it, anyone inside the pod would be severely injured by the deceleration burn.
"Firing Braking Rockets."
A dull roar filled the tiny Pod. Even with the Cushioning Foam, I could feel the G-Forces squeezing my legs into my torso.
"Impact in five, four..."
Were these countdowns really necessary?
"Three, Two, One..."
Thump!
The pod touched down on the Lunar Surface. Explosive charges blew off its sides.
I grabbed my magrifle off my back, and leapt from the remnants of the pod, the marines following closely behind.
" GO GO GO!"