Alarm of War, Book II: The Other Side of Fear (37 page)

Rafael stopped amidst the hustle and bustle of the troops loading the assault shuttles, searching for a face he hoped he wouldn’t find.  But there he was.

“Commander,” Eitan said in a low voice.  “Nice of you to come down and see the troops off.”

Hiram Brill at least had the grace to look abashed.  He was dressed in combat gear, armor and combat helmet and carried a sonic rifle.  But he stuck to his ground.

“I won’t get in your way, Raf, but I’ve got to go over.  Cookie is over there somewhere,” he said firmly.

Rafael suppressed a sigh.  “No, Commander, you are not going over.  All my men are specialists at this sort of thing.  You aren’t trained for it.  Most likely you will get yourself killed, which would be a shame, and maybe get one of my men killed” – his voice hardened – “which I will not allow!”

Hiram looked up at him.  Rafael was right; Hiram was a liability in this type of fight.  He didn’t have the training.  He didn’t have the experience.  Logic dictated Hiram should wait behind on the
Haifa
.

Bugger logic.

Hiram leaned in closer and said very softly in Rafael’s ear:  “Captain, in this operation you report to Colonel Dov Tamari, and Colonel Tamari reports to
me.
  I’m going.  Accept that as a fact.  Now, make it happen.”

Rafael gave him a cold look, then snapped his fingers at a grizzled, bald sergeant who had been standing nearby, trying very hard to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping.   The sergeant snapped to attention.  “Yes, sir?” he barked.

“Sergeant Maimon,” Rafael said icily, “this is Commander Brill of the Victorian Fleet.  He is in command of this operation and has graciously decided to go in with the first assault wave so that he can share his insights on how to properly execute the boarding of an enemy ship.”

“Yes, sir!” Sergeant Maimon shouted, keeping his face expressionless.

“Sergeant Maimon, despite the many important things you would normally be responsible for, you will be Commander Brill’s personal bodyguard.  That will be your only task, Sergeant.  Keep him alive and do your best to prevent Commander Brill from inadvertently killing one of our troops.”

“Yes, sir!”

“If the Commander should take it upon himself to want to wander aimlessly through that big Duck prison ship over there, Sergeant, my express orders are that you are to sit on him until he comes to his senses,” Rafael continued, never taking his eyes off Hiram.  “And if he absolutely refuses to stay out of the way or otherwise does
anything
to endanger the mission, you are to place him under arrest and return him to the
Haifa
forthwith.  Do you understand, Sergeant?”

“Forthwith, sir.  Yes, sir!”  Sergeant Maimon cast a baleful glance at Hiram.

“Carry on, Sergeant,” Rafael said.  And to Hiram, “Welcome to the SRF, Commander.”  Then he turned on his heel and walked stiffly away toward the krait ships, which were loaded and ready to go.

“Well,” Hiram said dryly, “I managed to piss him off.”

Sergeant Maimon looked at him dubiously.  “Beggin’ the Commander’s pardon, sir, but you do know how to shoot that sonic rifle, don’t you?”

Hiram smiled.  “Oh, yes, Sergeant, they taught us how to shoot in basic training.”

Sergeant Maimon pursed his lips, as if tasting something sour.  “I see, sir.”  He took a breath.  “Let’s find you a seat and get you strapped in, sir.”

“Don’t worry, Sergeant, I won’t make any trouble.  I just need to be over there.”

Maimon stopped and looked him straight in the eye.  “I’m sure you won’t, sir.  But beggin’ your pardon, sir, if you get one of my boys or girls killed, then Commander or no, I’ll kick your bloody ass into the middle of next week.”

Hiram nodded.  “I think we have an understanding, Sergeant.”

* * * *

              The mood on board the Dominion Ship
Tartarus
was one of barely suppressed panic.  Although Cookie had never seen them, there was a reinforced company of Dominion Security Forces on the ship, put there because the prison ship sometimes carried as many as 2,000 prisoners under the jurisdiction of the Dominion Intelligence Directorate.  Most of the prisoners were political prisoners, but even the softest academic could be hardened by prison and the DID took no chances.

              Of course, most of the prisoners died within a year of their imprisonment, but there were always new enemies of the State to fill their cells.  The DID relished its work.

              Now, with three Victorian warships hovering nearby and boarding parties no doubt in route, the DID officer in charge was faced with a simple decision: Should he kill all of the prisoners before the Vicky boarding parties got on board?  Or should he maximize the defense of the ship in an effort to keep control long enough for rescue to come?

              Logistically, it was difficult.  Although he had recommended it several times, the
Tartarus
had never been retrofitted so that the cell blocks could be sealed off and vented into space.  That would have been quick and efficient.  No, he would have to send men up and down the rows of cells, opening each door so that they could shoot the prisoner.  It would take a while, no matter how zealous the Security Force soldiers might be in their duties.

              Defending the ship was no sure thing, either.  He frowned, thinking through the problem.  The boarders would probably arrive in a matter of minutes.  He thought furiously.  There was another way.  He turned to his personal bodyguards.  “Follow me,” he barked.  “We’re going to the bridge.”  As he walked he thumbed his comm unit and crisply gave orders to the Security Forces to guard the two shuttle bay entrances, but to leave two quick reaction forces at either end of the ship so that they could attack any boarders who might come in through the hull.

              Once on the bridge, Colonel Konig wasted no time.  “Captain, turn on all of the ship’s internal monitoring equipment,” he ordered, “And arm the ship’s scuttling charges.”

              The Captain’s eyes narrowed.  “Arm the scuttling charges?”

              “Now, Captain,” Konig repeated. “Do it now.”

              Konig sat down in the Captain’s chair.  He would watch the fight that was about to ensue.  If the Security forces won, then all was well.  If they lost, well, he would do his duty.

* * * *

              Cookie led Wisnioswski down the passageway, sonic rifle to her shoulder.  They passed numerous rooms.  If the door was closed, they kept moving.  If the door was open, she quickly checked.  If it was occupied and the occupant would likely see them go by, she pulled the flechette pistol out and shot them once in the head.

              They rounded the last corner before the steep stairway.  Two men were talking at the bottom of the stairs.  Too far away for a confident shot with the flechette pistol.  Cookie kept walking toward them at a steady pace, rifle up and ready.  It was a moment before one of them looked up and really saw her, or at least saw her rifle.  As soon as she saw their eyes widen and their mouths open, she fired one quick shot with the sonic rifle. 
Whaapa!
 

              Both men collapsed, blood streaming from their noses, ears and eyes.  Cookie stayed upright, sweeping the rifle back and forth, looking for a threat. Seeing nothing, she slipped out the pistol, shot each of the men in the head and tucked the pistol back into her waistband. Wisnioswski quickly checked the men for weapons.

              “Nothing,” he told her.

              “Stay close,” she ordered, then began moving up the stairs.  They moved quietly thanks to the prison slippers they had been issued.  At the top of the first rise there was a large open door.  Cookie paused, straining to hear if anyone was nearby.  From the distance there came a stuttering, popping sound. 
Gods of Our Mothers!

             
She turned to Wisnioswski.  “Otto, I think Victorian troops have boarded!”

Wisnioswski grinned sharkishly.  “Can we find them?”

Cookie listened again, but she couldn’t hear any more shooting.  There was someone shouting, but she couldn’t tell from which direction.   Besides, if they blundered into a Victorian boarding party now, in the heat of battle, there was a good chance they’d get shot. She shook her head.  “Let’s stick to plan,” she whispered.  “Get to Karl’s, then find out where Engineering is.” 

They slipped past the open door and went up the second flight of stairs to another open door.  The corridor was empty, but now she could more distinctly hear the sound of shouting and someone running.  She slipped into the corridor, turned left and went six doors down.  Karl’s quarters.  She had watched Karl type in his entry code a dozen times.  In a moment she had the door open and they stepped inside.

Where Karl stood staring at them, eyes wide in shock.

* * * *

              Rafael Eitan and his men materialized in a snow squall.  At first the snow was so thick he couldn’t see where they were, but as the transport finished, the wind abruptly died and the snow settled to the floor.  He quickly glanced around; all thirty men were present.  Four other groups of thirty were being transported to other rooms near the shuttle bay while he was standing there.

              “Shall we take a stroll to the shuttle bay, gentlepersons?” he asked softly.  The Lieutenant and NCO snorted, but the men and women crowded into the little room grinned at him.  The Lieutenant elbowed her way in front of Rafael.  “With all respect, sir, if you would be kind enough to let me get on with my job?”  She was Daniella Tal; her parents were close friends with Rafael’s parents and she had known Rafael since childhood.  She’d had a crush on him when she was nine and now looked at him with amused exasperation.  Rafael bowed and swept an arm, letting her take the lead.

              Tal signaled two of her troops and they crept to the doorway.  She opened the door just a crack, then a little further, then she slowly pulled back into the room and quietly shut the door.  She walked to Rafael and put her mouth to his ear.

              “I think the shuttle bay entrance must be right around the corner.  There are twenty Duck soldiers in a group about forty feet down the corridor.  They are looking around the corner to where the shuttle bay is.”  She smiled, green eyes dancing.  “I think they are waiting for us to come in on shuttles to take the shuttle bay.  They don’t know we are already here, behind them.”

              Rafael nodded.  He suspected this scene was being played out with the four other groups, but that meant it would be only a matter of minutes before they were discovered.  He bent over to Lieutenant Tal.  “We need to hit them hard, right away before they realize we’re here.”

              Tal nodded enthusiastically, then snapped her fingers to get everyone’s attention and pointed at ten men and women.  She used crude sign language to tell them what they were going to do, then crossed back to the door.  At the door, she looked back to make sure everyone was with her, flashed Rafael a grin and slowly opened the door once more.  Then, her rifle up to her shoulder, she pushed open the door and crept into the corridor.  Slowly, quietly, her ten hand-picked troopers followed her out.

              The first five out knelt down, keeping their weapons trained on the unsuspecting Dominions.  The next five slipped in behind them, standing erect.  Tal’s lips twitched; she was using an infantry formation not used since the American Civil War on Old Earth.

None of the Dominions noticed them, their attention locked on the shuttle bay around the corner.  Tal almost felt sorry for them.  Almost.  It could so easily have been the other way around.

              “Now,” she said softly.

              It was over in a moment.  None of the Dominions even had a chance to scream.

              Rafael stepped out, glanced at the pile of bodies and nodded approvingly to Tal.  “Take their weapons, armor and communicators,” he ordered.  He thought about it longer.  “In fact, strip them.  Hurry now,” he urged.  “Lots to do.”

* * * *

              A half mile off the starboard side of the Dominion prison ship
Tartarus,
four Victorian assault shuttles matched the course and speed of the vessel, waiting for the shuttle bay doors to open. 

Each of the shuttles held fifty Victorian Marines, one or two Marvins and an assortment of beach balls and their controllers.  The Marvins were powered down and just stood there, menacing in their sheer bulk and ugliness, but momentarily harmless.  The beach balls, on the other hand, scurried about the deck like rampaging children, making noise, bumping into things and generally raising hell.  There was always a bit of tense competition among the beach ball controllers – who would stay in the shuttle to control the beach balls as they went through the ship – and the combat Marines, who considered the controllers to be little more than weenies and were not shy about saying it.

Now, waiting for the shooting to start, the Marines each sat wrapped in their own thoughts, trying with varying degrees of success to keep their nerves under control.  Most of all, they didn’t want to be bothered.  The controllers knew this and took every opportunity to torment them.  One beach ball rolled and bumped its way down the deck, stopping in front of a tall Marine who had put his head back and closed his eyes.